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4V 


M  EMORIAL 


Rev.  J.  H.Worcester,  Jr.,  D.  D. 


CONTAINING 


A  Brief  Biography 


AND 


SELECTED   SERMONS. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  SIXTH  PRESBYTERIAN  CHURCH. 
of  Chicago,  III. 

1893 


EDITOR'S  NOTE. 


This  volume  has  been  prepared  by  order  of  the 
Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  of  Chicago,  as  a  memorial  of 
its  love  for  the  memory  and  grateful  thanks  for  the  ser- 
vices of  its  former  pastor,  Rev.  J.  H.  Worcester,  Jr., 
D.  D.  and  is  respectfully  dedicated  to  all  those,  every- 
where, who  were  instructed  by  his  preaching,  inspired 
by  his  example,  and  comforted  by  his  counsel.  The 
committee  acknowledges,  with  gratitude,  the  kindness  of 
Rev.  Albert  Warren  Clark,  D.  D.,  Rev.  P.  F.  Leavens, 
D.  D.,  and  Mr.  B.  C.  Ward  for  their  contributions  to 
the  biographical  part  of  the  volume.  The  permission  of 
Pres.  M.  H.  Buckham  of  the  University  of  Vermont,  and 
Rev.  S.  J.  McPherson,  D.  D.  of  Chicago,  to  use  their  ad- 
dresses, will  be  appreciated  by  all  readers. 

The  sermons  herewith  presented  are  in  no  sense 
selected  as  superior  to  his  ordinary  efforts,  but  as  repre- 
sentative of  all  in  style,  and  as  exemplifying  the  con- 
sistent unity  of  purpose  in  all  his  preaching. 

Chicago,  Sept.  n,  1893. 

Alexander  Forbes. 


BIOGRAPHY. 


John  Hopkins  Worcester,  Jr.,  was  born  April 
2,  1845,  at  St.  Johnsbury,  Vt.  He  was  of  the  Vermont 
branch  of  the  eminent  family  whose  name  he  bore. 
His  grandfather  was  the  Rev.  Leonard  Worcester,  who 
was  for  nearly  half  a  century  pastor  of  the  Congrega- 
tional Church  at  Peacham,  Vt.  His  grand  uncle  was 
Dr.  Samuel  Worcester,  first  secretary  of  the  American 
Board.  His  father,  Rev.  J.  H.  Worcester,  D.  D., 
eldest-  son  of  Rev.  Leonard  Worcester,  was  pastor  of 
the  church  at  St.  Johnsbury  when  John  Hopkins 
Worcester,  Jr. ,  was  born.  His  mother  was  Martha  P. 
Clark,  daughter  of  Deacon  Luther  Clark  of  St.  Johns- 
bury. She  was  a  remarkably  lovely  woman,  of  fine 
intellect,  of  a  sweet  spirit,  and  of  devoted  piety.  She 
was  the  youngest  of  three  sisters;  the  other  two  are 
still  living  (1893). 

When  but  little  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  old 
his  father  was  called  to  the  pastorate  of  the  First 
Church  in  Burlington,  Vt.,  and  thither  he  removed 
with  his  parents  in  the  month  of  December,  1846.  On 
the  23d  of  August,  1848,  his  mother  died,  and  his  boy 
heart  had  its  first  sad,  deep  sorrow.  Although  so 
young  when  thus  bereaved,  he  never  forgot  his  mother. 
Her  bidding  him  goodbye  and  telling  him  to  "  love  the 
dear  Saviour,"  left  an  impression  which  he  never  lost 
nor  ever  disregarded. 

6 


On  the  Hopkins  side  he  was  descended  from  John 
Hopkins,  who  came  to  this  country  from  England  in 
1634,  first  living  in  Cambridge,  Mass.  In  1636  he  re- 
moved to  Hartford,  Conn.,  "being  one  of  that  com- 
pany which  made  the  notable  journey  from  Cambridge, 
with  Mr.  Hooker  at  the  head."  In  the  fourth  genera- 
tion, Samuel  Hopkins,  D.  D.,  married  Esther,  sister  of 
the  eminent  Jonathan  Edwards.  His  son,  also  Samuel 
Hopkins,  D.  D.,  was  the  great  grandfather  of  the  sub- 
ject of  this  sketch.  With  such  an  ancestry  we  are  pre- 
pared to  understand  the  life  of  Mr.  Worcester.  He 
inherited  intellectual  gifts  which,  used  as  he  used  them, 
made  him  conspicuous  for  his  mental  grasp  and  ' '  grip. 
But  not  less  did  he  inherit  moral  and  religious  tendencies 
making  attainment  of  a  high  order  possible.  Education 
and  training  can  do  much,  but  they  can  create  nothing. 
The  most  they  can  do  is  to  develope  the  native  powers — 
to  aid  in  realizing  the  potentiality  which  has  its  limit 
set  before  education  and  training  begin. 

Mr.  Worcester's  father  being  obliged,  on  account 
of  his  health,  to  spend  the  winter  of  1850-51  at  the 
South,  the  boy  was  left  in  charge  of  Rev.  and  Mrs.  Ruf us 
Case ;  Mr.  Case  supplying  his  father's  pulpit  in  his  ab- 
sence. Before  his  father's  return  he  went  with  Mr.  Case 
to  West  Lebanon,  N.  H.,  and  remained  there  until  his 
father's  marriage,  Oct.  1 8  5 1 ,  to  Miss  Catherine  Fleming, 
a  woman  of  fine  intellectual  attainments,  and  beautiful 
Christian  character,  then  principal  of  a  select  school  for 
young  ladies.  To  her  watchful  and  loving  care  and  judi- 
cious training,  the  boy  was  greatly  indebted,  and  the  fond 
affection  with  which  he  repaid  her  care,  was  very  re- 
markable.     Being  a  frail  child,  it  was  not  thought  ex- 

6 


pedient  to  send  him  to  the  public  schools,  and  so  in 

his  mother's  school,  of  which,  later,  his  father  became 

associate  principal,  the  boy  was  fitted  for  college. 

He  had  learned  the  alphabet  from  picture  blocks 

by  the  time  he  was  two  years  old,  and  by  the  time  he 

was  three  years  old  he  had  learned  to  read.     A  friend 

carrying  him  home  on  his  shoulder  one  evening,  when 

very  little  over  two  years  old,  was  pleased  to  see  him 

look  up  at  the  stars  and  repeat  : 

"  Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  'tar, 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are, 
Up  above  the  world  so  high, 
Like  a  dimont  in  the  'ky." 

At  his  mother's  funeral  he  was  taken  to  the  grave, 
and  as  he  saw  the  body  laid  away,  he  burst  into  tears, 
saying,   "Now  I  shan't  have  a  mamma  any  more." 

When  he  was  about  five  years  old,  a  minister's 
association  was  held  at  his  father's  house.  As  they 
were  at  dinner,  and  he  was  in  the  kitchen  with  the 
housekeeper,  he  opened  the  door  and  looked  in.  On 
the  housekeeper's  remonstrating,  he  replied:  "It's  cus- 
tomary, in  Burlington,  for  little  boys  to  peek  just  a  little. " 

It  seems  that  very  early  in  life  he  had  his  mind 
set  on  preaching,  for  as  a  little  boy  it  was  a  great  de- 
light to  him  to  stand  on  the  stairs  and  "preach." 

The  atmosphere  with  which  he  was  surrounded  in 
early  life  conspired  to  early  maturity  of  his  intellectual 
powers.  Being  an  only  child,  educated  in  a  young 
ladies'  school,  there  was  little  to  call  forth  or  to  give 
room  for  the  development  of  those  traits  which  usually 
characterize  the  boy.  But  he  grew  rapidly  and  solidly 
in  mental  strength.  The  spring  before  he  entered  col- 
lege, as  the  snow  was  thawing,  his  father  found  him 

7 


playing  in  the  water  as  it  rushed  down  the  street,  and 
laughingly  said,  "Oh,  John,  aren't  you  ashamed  to  be 
dabbling  in  the  water,  and  you  almost  ready  to  enter 
college?"  "Oh,  no, "  was  his  reply,  "  I'm  illustrating 
the  principles  of  Hydrodynamics."  The  few  anecdotes 
here  given  of  his  childhood  and  boyhood  show  the 
maturity  of  his  mind  as  well  as  the  fine  sense  of  humor 
even  then  which  charaterized  his  mature  years. 

He  entered  the  University  of  Vermont  at  the  age 
of  1 6,  and  graduated  in  1865  at  the  age  of  20.  During 
his  college  course,  Jan.  4,  1863,  he  united  with  the 
First  Church  in  Burlington.  He  never  knew  when  he 
became  a  Christian,  but  his  Christian  life  in  boyhood 
was  marked,  positive,  aggressive.  He  was  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in  Burlington.  Of  his 
college  life  the  following  is  from  his  classmate  and 
warm  personal  friend,  Rev.  Albert  Warren  Clark,  D.  D. 

The  college  Life  of  Prof.  J.  H.  Worcester,  Jr.,  D.  D., 
at  the  University  of  Vermont,  1861-1865. 

The  invitation  to  write  a  sketch  of  Prof.  Worces- 
ter's college  days  has  brought  up  many  delightful 
memories.  While  deeply  regretting  that  great  pressure 
of  missionary  work  forces  me  to  write  in  marked  haste, 
I  cannot  put  aside  the  privilege  and  honor  of  writing 
a  brief  account  of  Professor  Worcester's  life  at  the 
University  of  Vermont.  He  was  my  most  intimate 
friend  at  college.  Our  friendship  from  the  beginning 
of  our  "Freshman"  life,  down  to  his  last  days  in  a 
professor's  chair  was  pure,  intimate,  golden,  and  un- 
clouded by  any  misunderstanding. 

An  eminent  Frenchman  has  said  :  "I  always  like 
to  know  the  domestic  character  and  circumstances  of 


those  with  whom  I  have  to  do  in  the  world  :  it  is  a  part  of 
themselves — an  additional  external  physiognomy  which 
gives  us  a  clue  to  their  character  and  destiny."  This 
thought  prompts  me  to  say  a  word  about  the  early 
home,  the  college  home  as  well,  of  my  dear  friend 
John.  An  eminent  divine  in  Connecticut  once  remarked 
at  one  of  the  annual  Conferences  of  the  Congregational 
Churches  :  ' '  The  first  right  of  every  child  is  to  be 
well-born."  The  friend  of  whom  I  write  was  in  every 
sense  "well-born."  Character  is  no  accident.  Blessed 
is  he  whose  education  began  a  hundred  years  before 
his  birth. 

A  well  known  professor,  now  occupying  a  chair 
similar  to  the  one  vacated  by  Professor  Worcester,  re- 
marked playfully  one  day,  as  he  looked  at  his  first  little 
boy:  "It  takes  six  generations  to  develop  full  and 
noble  manhood."  Behold  the  sixth  generation  of 
Worcesters  in  America  :  Dr.  Samuel  Worcester,  first 
corresponding  Secretary  of  the  American  Board,  and 
Rev.  Leonard  Worcester,  the  grandfather  of  our  friend, 
an  editor,  and  for  nearly  fifty  years  the  beloved  and 
successful  pastor  of  the  church  in  Peacham,  Vermont. 

The  seventh  generation  is  still  represented  in  the 
person  of  the  noble  and  venerable  Dr.  Worcester  of 
Burlington,  Vt.  Gifted,  cultivated,  conservative  and 
yet  progressive — just  the  man  for  father,  guide  and 
companion  of  our  Professor  Worcester.  In  his  delight- 
ful home  in  picturesque  Burlington,  John  Hopkins 
Worcester  Jr.,  found  invaluable  help  and  inspiration 
in  the  presence  and  companionship  of  that  modest  yet 
highly  cultivated  lady  who  was  to  him  from  his  seventh 
year  a  genuine  mother. 

9 


In  such  a  home,  and  in  a  town  whose  natural 
scenery  is  almost  unrivalled,  and  at  a  university, 
small  but  grandly  strong,  I  became  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  the  eighth  generation  of  American 
Worcesters. 

Professor  Worcester  was  indeed  "well-born", 
and  well  prepared  for  the  college  he  entered  in  1861. 
How  well  I  remember  the  first  recitation  of  the  class 
of '65!  Thenow  eminent  president  of  the  University  of 
Vermont  met  us — eighteen  in  number — for  the  first 
time  on  Thursday,  Sept.  5th,  1861.  He  was  at  that 
time  professor  of  Greek.  At  the  head  of  our  class, 
alphabetically,  sat  Atwater,  now  professor  at  Wes- 
leyan  University,  Middletown,  Conn.,  at  the  foot  sat 
Worcester,  younger  in  years  than  some  of  us,  but  even 
then  wearing  a  calm,  collected  air,  as  of  one  who  had 
a  purpose  before  him,  one  who  would  reach  it  undis- 
turbed by  other  aims.  It  was  soon  evident  that  one 
of  these  two  men  would  be  our  class  leader.  From  the 
first  the  boyish,  yet  manly,  cultured  face  of  Worcester 
attracted  me.  As  a  young  man  from  the  country,  I  was 
too  shy  to  make  any  advances  to  the  city  youth,  who, 
from  the  cradle,  had  lived  in  classic  atmosphere.  When 
on  Sunday  morning,  the  8th,  our  class  held  its  first 
prayer-meeting,  I  was  glad  to  see  among  our  number 
the  fellow  student,  who  was,  so  unconsciously  to  him- 
self, attracting  me.  His  exact  scholarship  in  every 
department  increased  my  admiration,  and  made  me 
realize  how  imperfect  was  my  preparation  for  college 
life.  Although  at  graduation  I  had  the  honor  to  rank 
next  to  my  friend,  there  was  little  in  my  first  recita- 
tion to  awaken  in  his  bosom  more  than  pity. 

10 


He  seemed  first  drawn  to  me  by  the  successful 
issue  of  a  game  of  foot-ball. 

When  the  Sophomores  gave  us  the  usual  chal- 
lenge for  such  a  contest,  no  one  was  more  enthusiastic 
in  the  line  of  acceptance  and  victory  than  he.  In  the 
severe  and  final  struggle  that  followed,  my  well  trained 
country  muscle  served  me  so  well  that  John  Worcester 
declared  that  the  victory  was  largely  due  to  me. 
From  that  hour  our  friendship  was  mutual.  He  was 
no  athelete  and  yet  no  one  enjoyed  more  than  he  our 
atheletic  sports.  He  was  equally  enthusiastic  in  the 
class  room  and  on  the  campus. 

I  recall  with  interest  a  vigorous  game  of  base-ball. 
With  more  than  usual  eagerness  he  had  ' '  acted  well 
his  part."  At  the  close  I  said  to  him  "John  where  is 
your  Society  pin  "  ?  A  look  of  pain  shot  over  his  face 
as  he  exclaimed  :  "Oh,  it  is  lost  somewhere  on  the 
campus".  But,  weary  as  he  was,  he  exclaimed  with 
his  usual  perseverance  :  ' '  That  pin  must  be  found  if 
we  search  for  it  a  week."  And  found  it  was,  to  his 
intense  joy;  he  was  a  great  admirer  of  our  college 
society. 

Entering  college,  as  he  did,  without  a  full  exper- 
ience of  Vermont  academy  life,  and  as  some  thought, 
with  a  few  airs  from  the  girls'  seminary,  there  was,  at 
the  start,  a  certain  lack  which  was  noticed  not  only 
by  his  classmates,  but  by  the  Sophomores.  In  those 
days  many  upper-class  men  believed  in  hydropathic 
treatment,  and  so,  among  the  Freshmen,  Worcester 
was  one,  who,  according  to  the  diagnosis  of  Sopho- 
mores, needed  "water-cure."  Entering  the  mathe- 
matical room  one   morning  we  were  surprised  and  in- 

11 


dignant  at  the  question  in  large  chalk-letters  :  "Who 
ducked  John  Worcester  ?"  The  next  day  he  called  at 
my  room  looking  very  thoughtful  :  "  Clark",  said  he, 
"tell  me  honestly  why  you  think  the  Sophs,  selected 
me  for  hydrophatic  treatment."  Some  months  later, 
referring  to  the  same  subject  he  remarked:  "That 
pail  of  cold  water  was  a  blessing  in  disguise,  it  has  led 
me  to  ask  myself  some  serious  questions,  and  as  a  re- 
sult my  little  wisdom  has  been  the  gainer."  In  the 
summer  of  1862  a  large  number  of  Vermont  students 
responded  to  the  call  of  President  Lincoln  for  volun- 
teers to  serve  nine  months.  Patriotism  sadly  depleted 
the  attendance  at  the  University  at  Burlington.  Had 
my  friend's  patriotic  heart  rested  in  a  more  vigorous 
frame  he  would  gladly  have  been  with  his  classmates 
"at  the  front." 

When  I  returned  from  the  war  and  found  him  on 
his  back  with  a  broken  leg,  he  greeted  me  with  a 
smile,  remarking  as  he  seized  my  hand  :  "Well,  Ser- 
geant, you  see  that  Burlington  is  more  dangerous  than 
a  Gettysburg  campaign  ;  you  come  home  without  a 
scratch,  while  I  am  on  the  list  of  the  wounded." 

The  students  from  the  University  of  Vermont  who 
had  served  nine  months  in  the  army  expected,  of 
course,  to  join  the  class  below  them  ;  but  the  faculty 
graciously  responded  to  the  petition  of  the  students,  who 
had  remained  in  the  college,  and  allowed  us  to  rejoin 
our  old  classes,  with  the  condition,  that  we  pass  an 
examination,  in  due  time,  in  the  studies  pursued  by 
the  class  in  our  absence.  His  great  kindness  in  help- 
ing me  to  keep  step  with  the  "Junior"  class,  while  I 
was  at  the  same  time  making  up  "Sophomore"  stud- 

12 


ies,  I  shall  never  forget.  He  was  now  the  recognized 
leader  of  our  class,  not  only  in  one  department,  but  in 
all  departments.  This  position  he  kept  with  great  ease, 
and  whoever  was  second  to  him,  was  so,  "  longo  in- 
ter v  alio. 

Secretary  Clark  of  the  American  Board,  who 
taught  us  Latin,  would  commend  the  graceful  transla- 
tions of  our  "dux"  ;  professor,  now  President  Buck- 
ham,  says  among  those,  in  the  last  thirty  years  who 
have  had  a  most  promising  and  brilliant  college  career, 
John  Worcester  stands  easily  among  the  first  ten. 
Professor  Marsh  regarded  him  as  one  of  the  best  scien- 
tific scholars.  President  Torrey  listened  with  delight 
to  his  answers  in  philosophy.  Professor  Petty,  if  living, 
could  tell  you  how  the  minutiae  of  differential  calculus 
attracted  him,  could  tell  you  how,  when  volunteers 
were  called  for  to  compute  the  time  of  the  next  local 
solar  eclipse,  Worcester,  with  one  other  student,  per- 
severed to  the  end,  while  others,  discouraged,  stopped 
at  the  "Half-Way  House." 

In  college  he  was  one  of  the  most  effective  writ- 
ers and  speakers,  and  yet  at  that  time  he  needed  the 
unrelenting  pruning  knife  of  President  Buckham.  Ah  ! 
but  he  was  thorough  with  us.  Did  he  not  refuse  to 
accept  my  first  oration,  quieting  my  wounded  pride  with 
the  remark  :  "A  fine  essay,  Mr.  Clark,  but  I  expect 
something  more  from  you  when  we  ask  for  an  oration.'' 
Did  he  not  say  to  Worcester  :  ' '  You  do  not  lose  sight 
of  your  mark,  but  in  your  march  to  the  goal  you 
stretch  out  both  hands  and  sweep  in  many  things  not 
needed."  Our  friend  was  man  enough  to  feel  the  jus- 
tice of  the  criticism,  and  from  that  time  on  his  fellow 

13 


students  noticed  marked  progress  ;  he  became  in  style 
more  like  Tacitus  and  less  like  Livy. 

In  our  weekly  debates  in  society-rooms  he  was 
gladly  heard.  The  discipline  of  those  days  was  one  of 
the  foundation  stones  for  his  historic  speech  at  Detroit. 

Professor  Worcester's  intense  loyalty  to  his  col- 
lege, to  the  society  of  which  he  was  a  member,  and  to 
his  special  friends  must  not  be  overlooked. 

As  a  student  he  was  most  loyal  to  the  University 
and  to  its  faculty.  I  do  not  recall  one  act  that  could 
be  classed  with  the  littleness  and  meanness  that  some- 
times show  themselves  in  college  days.  He  was  too 
noble  to  be  small  but  he  could  be  indignant,  and  he 
joined  heartily  in  rebuking  the  class  of  '67  for  an  in- 
sult to  our  class. 

In  the  various  societies,  religious,  social,  and  liter- 
ary to  which  he  belonged,  no  one  was  more  loyal  and 
faithful  than  John  Worcester.  His  love  and  loyalty 
to  special  friends  should  be  mentioned  even  though  it 
seem  too  personal  for  the  writer  of  this  article.  It 
illustrates  one  phase  of  our  friend's  character.  During 
the  Spring  term  of  Senior  year  the  principal  of  the 
Vermont  Episcopal  Institute,  at  Burlington,  was  ob- 
liged to  dismiss  his  first  assistant.  He  applied  to  the 
President  of  the  University  for  permission  to  engage 
one  of  the  seniors  to  help  him.  The  salary  he  offered 
for  assistance  in  the  forenoon  was  a  temptation  to  a 
poor  student.  It  was  accepted  very  reluctantly  by 
the  writer,  because  of  the  necessity  of  living  at  the  In- 
stitute. This  did  not  sever  connection  with  the  col- 
lege, but  with  the  class-room  and  the  daily  life  at  the 
University.      Worcester  came  to  my  room  when  I  was 

14 


packing  my  trunk,  threw  his  arms  around  my  neck 
and  wept  like  a  child  :  "Clark,  this  cannot  be,  you 
must  give  it  up,  the  war  has  bereft  us  of  some  of  our 
best  men,  and  now  you  are  going,  this  must  not  be  ; 
what  is  college  with  you  away  from  it  ? " 

Similar  devotion  was  manifested  at  the  time  of 
our  graduation.  An  effort  was  made  by  some  to 
secure,  at  my  cost,  a  place  in  the  honorary  society, 
"  Phi  Betta  Kappa. "  College  marks  gave  the  place 
to  me,  but  on  the  ground  that  I  had  not  been  all  the 
time  in  college,  another  tried  to  displace  me.  Wor- 
cester was  indignant,  and  exclaimed:  "I  utterly  re- 
fuse to  accept  the  election  to  the  '  Phi  Betta  Kappa 
unless  justice  is  done  to  Clark." 

I  beg  pardon  for  introducing  such  personal  mat- 
ters, but  the  sketch  of  Prof.  Worcester's  college  life 
demands  their  mention. 

Nor  can  I  forget  that  his  first  public  lecture  was 
delivered  in  a  school-house  in  Franklin,  Vt.,  where 
the  writer  was  teaching  in  the  winter  of  1864. 

This  very  imperfect  sketch  of  Professor  Worces- 
ter's  college  days  must  not  be  closed  without  additional 
reference  to  his  religious  life  at  the  University  at  Bur- 
lington. An  eminent  Scotchman  has  well  said  :  "In 
some,  religion  is  like  a  gradual,  general  growth — the 
growth  of  something  that  was  always  within  them,  for 
they  cannot  go  back  with  distinct  consciousness,  to 
any  time  when  they  they  had  it  not."  This  remark  is 
eminently  true  in  the  case  of  Professor  Worcester.  He 
could  not  name  the  year,  much  less  the  day,  when 
he  became  a  Christian.  To  myself  more  than  to  any 
other  fellow-student  was  given  the  privilege  of  know- 

15 


ing  and  watching  the  inner-life  of  our  friend.  From 
the  first  he  was  chivalrously  honorable  in  his  dealings, 
intolerant  of  everything  in  the  shape  of  falsehood,  and 
ready,  in  the  spirit  of  love  and  kindness,  to  act  as  ser- 
vant of  all. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  see,  all  through  his  college 
days,  a  steady  and  helpful  growth  in  all  that  pertains 
to  spiritual  life.  In  freshman  year  the  sense  of 
"ought"  was  very  marked.  His  religious  life  at  that 
period  was,  in  a  word,  a  conscientious  reverance  for 
the  ' '  ought. ' ' 

Joy  in  Christian  life  and  duty  was  much  more  to 
be  seen  in  our  last  college  year.  At  the  Sunday  morn- 
ing class  prayer-meeting,  Worcester  was  never  absent 
without  a  good  excuse.  There  is  a  room  in  South  Col- 
lege that  was  witness  to  many  of  his  earnest  prayers 
for  unconverted  classmates.  That  room  could  tell  of 
many  a  "still-hour"  which  helped  to  mould  and  guide 
our  lives.      God  be  praised  for  such  blessed  memories. 

The  student's  Bible-class  taught  with  such  ability 
by  Professor  Worcester's  father,  was  our  first  theologi- 
cal Seminary.  Instruction  adapted  to  our  spiritual 
needs  and  wisely  calculated  to  promote  symmetrical 
growth  was  welcomed  by  none  more  heartily  than  by 
the  admiring  son.  When,  towards  the  close  of  our 
college  life,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  was  organized  in  Burling- 
ton, John  Hopkins  Worcester,  Jr.  was,  of  course,  one 
of  its  active  members. 

Does  it  seem  strange  that  such  a  man  at  the  time 
of  graduation  was  not  yet  clear  that  God  was  calling 
him  to  preach  his  gospel  ?  He  had  a  consecrated  am- 
bition and  at  the  same  time  felt  sure  that  law  would 

16 


afford  him  a  life  of  usefulness  and  success.  His  ora- 
tion at  the  Junior  Exhibition  on  "The  future  of 
eloquence  in  America,"  and  his  "Valedictory"  on 
"Political  Consecration,"  justly  praised  at  the  time 
by  the  New  York  Times,  were  in  harmony  with  a 
struggle  that  for  a  time  promised  to  America  an 
able  judge  and  statesman.  He  was  a  born  leader, 
and  could  have  won  success  in  any  professon. 

Professor  Buckham's  baccalaureate  sermon  to  our 
class  on  the  text  :  "  Behold  I  send  you  forth  as  sheep 
in  the  midst  of  wolves  ;  be  ye  therefore  wise  as  ser- 
pents and  harmless  as  doves,"  made  a  deep  impression 
on  Worcester's  mind.  With  some  of  its  stirring  words, 
still  ringing  in  my  ears,  I  will  close  this  hasty  sketch. 
"The  work  of  a  Christian  apostle  is  no  pastime  ;  it  is 
a  life-long  struggle  with  a  foe,  whose  energy  it  will  be 
hard  to  match,  and  whose  cunning  no  wise  man  may 
dare  to  despise.  We  send  you  forth — Christ  sends  you 
forth — not  to  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  lettered  ease,  but 
to  enter  upon  the  severe  campaign  which  truth  is  wag- 
ing against  error  ;  to  receive  hard  blows  and  deliver 
harder  ones.  Meet  the  perversions  of  unsanctified  intel- 
lect by  superior  intellect,  sanctified.  Go  forth  then,  in 
Christ's  name  into  the  fields  where  truth  is  maintain- 
ing stern  conflict. 

Above  all  things,  first,  last,  midst,  and  without 
end,  aspire  to  that  knowledge  which  will  give  both  im- 
pulse and  direction  to  all  other  knowledge — the  true 
knowledge  of  God,  by  faith  in  His  Son  Jesus  Christ." 
Albert  Warren  Clark, 

Missionary  of  the  American  Board,  and  Senior  Pastor  of  the    Free 
Reformed  Church,  Prague,  Bohemia,  Austria. 

17 


Professor  W.  O.  Atwater,  of  Middletown,  Conn. , 
mentioned  by  Dr.  Clark,  writes  as  follows  : 

My  first  recollection  of  John  Worcester  dates  to 
the  time  we  were  boys  of  14  or  thereabouts,  in  Bur- 
lington. I  did  not  know  him  very  well,  as  he  lived  at 
one  end  of  the  village  and  I  at  the  other,  but  I  remember 
him  as  a  rather  sedate  and  earnest,  but  kind  and, 
withal,  genial  boy.  Our  family  left  Burlington  shortly 
after  and  when  I  returned  to  enter  college  he  was  one 
of  the  very  few  in  our  class  whom  I  had  seen  before.  As 
the  recollections  of  our  college  days  come  back  to  me 
I  think  of  him  in  the  Latin  recitation  room  with  Pro- 
fessor Clark  taking  notes  of  lectures  ;  in  the  Greek  ex- 
amination in  Herodotus  with  Professor  Buckham,  the 
first  examination  which  we  passed  and  with  regard  to 
the  result  of  which  we  were  all  pretty  anxious  ;  and  in 
the  mathematical  room  with  Professor  Pettee  where 
John's  ability  and  industry  were  especially  prominent. 

I  remember  very  well  how  a  fire  broke  out  one 
evening  in  the  machine  shop  by  the  lake  shore,  not  far 
from  where  Worcester  lived.  The  boys  hurried  down 
there,  of  course,  I  with  the  rest,  and  as  we  were  rushing 
through  Pearl  street  and  had  got  nearly  to  the  fire,  we 
heard  that  a  boy  had  just  broken  his  leg,  and  a  moment 
after  we  learned  that  it  was  Worcester,  who  in  the 
scramble  had  been  tumbled  over  the  steep  sandbank 
just  above  where  the  building  was  burned.  He  was 
brought  home  and  of  course  was  kept  in  the  house  for 
a  number  of  weeks.  It  was  shortly  before  the  summer 
examinations.  I  saw  him  a  few  days  afterwards  and 
remember  very  vividly  how  he  lay  holding  his  analyti- 
cal geometry,  of  which  we  had  finished  the  larger  part 

18 


in  class,  and  said  with  a  sort  of  grim  determination  in 
his  voice  :  '  I  am  going  to  learn  all  there  is  between 
the  covers  of  that  book  before  I  get  out  of  this  bed',  and 
I  have  no  doubt  he  did  it.  I  shall  never  forget  a  com- 
position which  he  read  one  day,  in  class,  on  the  char- 
acter of  Paul.  I  thought  then  that  he  would  become  a 
minister  and  was  sure  he  would  be  a  good  one. 

Some  years  after  graduation  we  were  in  Europe 
at  the  same  time  and  met  in  Leipsic  and  later  in  Swit- 
zerland. His  purpose  in  life  had  ripened  with  his 
character  and  I  saw  then  that  there  was  in  him  that 
which  makes  a  noble,  strong,  and  influential  man. 
His  later  career  verified  the  enthusiastic  hopes  of  his 
friends,  and  in  the  unhappy  struggle  which  has  been 
going  on  for  some  time  past  in  one  of  our  great  relig- 
ious organizations,  a  struggle  which,  I  fear,  is  not  soon 
to  cease  and  one  in  which  Christian  wisdom  and  Chris- 
tian tolerance  are  so  sorely  needed,  his  influence  on 
what,  seems  to  me  the  right  side,  was  already  great 
and  growing  greater. 

It  is  hard  for  us  short-sighted  mortals  to  under- 
stand why  such  men  should  be  cut  off  in  the  midst  of 
their  very  best  activity  in  life,  but  it  is  not  for  us  to 
question  the  rulings  of  that  Providence  in  whom  Wor- 
cester so  firmly  believed.  We  should  rather  be  in- 
spired by  his  example,  as  I  certainly  am,  to  labor  with 
increasing  diligence  and  increasing  faith. 

I  hope  some  folks  in  the  world  may  be  helped  to 
be  worthier,  more  useful  and  happier,  for  this  life  and 
for  the  next,  by  what  comes  from  the  lives  of  some  of 
the  little  company  of  good  friends  who  were  together 
in  the  class  of  1865  at  the  University  of  Vermont.    Of 

19 


that  little  company  the  name  of  one  will  certainly  be 
beloved  and  honored.     That  one  is  John  Worcester." 

Rev.  P.  F.  Leavens,  D.  D.,  of  Passaic,  N.  J., 
says  : 

"  I  perceive  on  reflection  that  I  shall  best  comply 
with  your  request  concerning  the  boyhood  of  our  de- 
parted friend,  if  I  simply  summon  my  best  recollec- 
tion and  write — currente  calamo — what  comes.  For 
it  breaks  upon  me  with  force  that  I  was  not  a  man 
when  he  was  a  boy,  but  only  another  boy.  To  be  sure 
I  was  a  few  years  older,  as  the  calendar  runs,  but  he 
had  advantages  which  set  him  up  even  with  me,  if  not 
ahead,  in  knowledge — at  least  in  spiritual  knowledge. 

I  am  impressed  with  what  our  mutual  friend,  Rev. 
Albert  W.  Clark,  now  missionary  in  Austria,  writes  as 
to  himself :  '  What  a  host  of  recollections  rise  up  in 
memory  as  I  think  of  our  dear  John.  In  a  thousand 
ways  our  lives  have  touched  and  always  in  the  line  of 
blessing  to  myself.'  Yes,  that  tells  the  story.  He  had 
a  favored  youth  and  he  made  it — probably  uncon- 
sciously to  himself — a  blessing  to  the  rest  of  us. 

I  must  have  come  to  know  him  when  he  was  four- 
teen. I  think  it  began  in  Sunday  School.  I  sat  in  the 
class  of  the  elder  Dr.  Worcester  and  listened  to  re- 
markably instructive  exposition  of  St.  Paul's  epistles. 
In  course  of  time  I  was  drawn  out  to  act  as  a  teacher 
and  the  boy  was  one  of  the  number  to  whom  I  was 
presented.  He  certainly  knew  more  than  I  of  the 
sacred  Word,  and  we  were  fellow-students. 

At  length  I  knew  him  in  his  home,  and  there  it  is 
I  try  in  memory  to  reproduce  my  friend.  There  was 
everything  finely  intellectual  in  that  atmosphere.    Mrs. 

20 


Worcester's  school  for  Young  Ladies  was  justly  fam- 
ous. Both  teachers  and  pupils  there  were  the  bright- 
est of  minds.  This  lone  boy  among  them, — sometimes 
pitied,  sometimes  envied,  I  suppose — took  a  clear 
course  and  derived  the  utmost  intellectual  advantage 
from  the  situation.  The  father  seemed  to  me  in  those 
days  both  a  sage  and  a  saint.  As  I  see  it  from  this 
distance  he  must  have  been  in  the  prime  of  his  years. 
He  had  been  pastor  but  was  not  now  :  he  had  passed 
through  much  affliction,  but  now  was  in  cheerful  sur- 
roundings :  he  was  grave  in  manner  and  measured  in 
speech,  yet  keenly  witty  betimes,  and  so,  taken  all  in 
all,  he  seemed  a  great  father  for  the  one  child. 

And  every  loop  that  opened  to  let  a  guest  into 
wider  knowledge  of  the  family  relations  brought  to 
sight  learning,  character,  and  aggressive  religion.  To 
me  it  meant  glorious  things  that  the  father's  father  had 
been  one  of  the  pioneer  ministers  of  Vermont.  To  this 
day  I  bare  my  head  and  do  obeisance  before  the  name 
of  any  among  the  first  settlers  of  my  native  state. 
And  the  learned  man  who  should  have  gone  into  the 
woods  and  shared  the  lot  of  the  clearers  of  the  forest, 
and  had  been  their  minister,  and  built  their  House  of 
God,  would  seem  to  me  worthy  of  triple  honor, 
and  sure  to  bequeath  choice  benedictions  to  son  and 
son's  son.  My  friend  had  a  heritage  above  most  of 
the  children  of  the  Green  Hills,  a  heritage  far  beyond 
price. 

On  every  hand  in  the  family  were  preachers, 
evangelists,  and  missionaries.  If  it  stirred  my  blood 
to  read,  how  must  it  have  stirred  the  blood  of  all  that 
Worcester  family   to   realize   that    one   of  them,    the 

'21 


uncle  of  our  dear  friend,  gave  his  life  to  the  Cherokee 
Indians,  and,  in  defense  of  their  outraged  rights,  suf- 
fered imprisonment  until  he  could  maintain  and  secure 
his  due  privileges  in  the  highest  courts  of  the  nation  ! 
These  things  were  the  heir-looms  of  the  family  and  the 
stories  must  have  been  the  wonder-land  of  the  glowing 
soul  in  the  radiant  boy.  Have  not  the  tales  told  at 
the  fireside  left  lasting  marks  on  all  of  us  ?  On  no 
American  boy  could  finer,  nobler  family  traditions  cen- 
ter than  on  the  golden  head  of  this  fair  child. 

When  the  long  summer  vacations  came  and  the 
girls  were  out  of  the  way,  he  drew  his  friends  to  the 
house.  That  was  grand  for  us.  The  spacious,  ramb- 
ling buildings  ;  the  luxuriant  gardens  ;  the  absolute 
freedom  ;  the  leisurely  and  uplifting  talk — no  wonder 
it  rises  in  memory  and  starts  a  thrill  of  gratitude  even 
at  this  late  day.  Here  and  there  a  distinct  recollec- 
tion stands  out,  like  a  glimmering  light  on  a  far-off, 
receding  shore.  Once  the  conversation  ran  about 
Chaucer  and  the  father  was  telling  us  how  to  drink  from 
that  fountain  head  of  English  literature  :  again  the 
drift  was  metaphysical,  and  he  suggested  that  we 
would  do  well  to  read  a  certain  new  book  which  he 
pointed  out,  remarking  that  it  was  by  an  author  over 
the  sea  named  McCosh.  It  was  the  first  mention  I 
ever  heard  of  that  name  which  was  to  become  so  famil- 
iar. And  here  is  a  line  from  a  letter  in  which  the  boy 
at  another  date  is  saying :  '  My  study  is  confined  to 
French  mainly,  which  I  am  seeking  to  familiarize  my- 
self with,  in  the  thought  that  I  may  go  to  Europe  some- 
time, in  which  case  I  shall  need  it.' 

Can  I  not  recall  anything  religious  ?     Nay,  but  I 

22 


cannot  recall  one  single  thing  that  was  inconsistent 
with  religion.  It  was  taken  for  granted,  and  I  do  not 
remember  that  we  urged  him  to  give  his  heart  to  God. 
I  cannot  make  it  seem  to  me  that  I  ever  thought  of 
him  otherwise  than  as  a  child  of  God.  And  I  am  sure 
now,  as  with  all  the  might  of  memory  I  bring  back 
those  days,  that  I  was  brought  into  contact  with  him, 
not  for  anything  I  had  to  give  him  but  that,  in  his 
felicitous  youth,  he  might  be,  as  Clark  says  a  '  bless- 
ing to  myself. ' ' ' 

Mr.  B.  C.  Ward,  an  attorney  at  Newton,  la., 
says  of  Mr.  Worcester  as  a  collegian  : 

"As  to  my  impressions  of  the  man,  Dr.  Worces- 
ter, while  associated  with  him  during  Freshman  year, 
I  can  say  this  :  He  was  the  most  brainy  man  in  the 
Class  of  1865  and  stood  at  the  head  in  all  scholarly  at- 
tainments. There  was  good  reason  for  this,  because 
he  came  from  good  stock.  His  father  and  mother 
were  cultured  and  intellectually  strong,  and  they 
spared  no  pains  to  give  him  the  very  best  advantages. 
Being  brought  up  from  boyhood  under  the  very  shadow 
of  the  Vermont  University  ;  accustomed  to  mingle  only 
in  cultured  society  ;  coming  into  contact  daily  with  lit- 
erary people,  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  became  manly 
while  yet  a  boy,  and  was  inspired  in  his  early  years 
with  noble  impulses  and  lofty  aspirations. 

With  all  his  literary  attainments,  he  was  also 
spiritual,  having  consecrated  himself  to  the  service  of 
the  Master  in  early  life.  He  was  thoroughly  conscien- 
tious, and  nothing  could  swerve  him  from  the  path  of 
duty  a  hair's  breadth.      He   abhorred  meanness  and 

23 


duplicity,  and  had  no  patience  with  one  who  was  dis- 
honest or  insincere. 

His  serious  mien  and  very  dignified  manner,  which 
was  natural  to  him,  caused  some  of  his  classmates  to 
think  that  he  regarded  himself  as  their  superior,  and 
that  they  were  not  worth  his  notice.  Such,  however, 
was  not  the  case.  The  most  humble  member  of  the 
class,  coming  to  the  College  from  his  country  home, 
with  but  little  culture,  poor  in  purse,  and  so  poorly 
equipped  in  literary  attainments  that  he  felt  dis- 
couraged when  he  measured  himself  with  such  a  brill- 
iant student  as  Worcester,  even  this  humble  student, 
the  writer  of  these  words,  found  in  Worcester,  a  warm- 
hearted, genial  friend,  and  a  friend  who  was  ever 
ready  to  help,  to  encourage,  to  sympathize  with  those 
who  were  placed  in  less  fortunate  circumstances, 
Every  student  who  proved  himself  worthy  could  have 
Worcester's  friendship. 

Every  member  of  the  Class,  now  living,  will  ac- 
knowledge that  by  coming  in  touch  with  this  noble 
young  man  during  those  college  days,  his  own  ideals 
of  life's  duties  were  raised,  and  his  own  life  exalted." 

Through  these  words  from  men  who  knew  him 
well  in  his  boyhood,  we  are  enabled  to  account  for  the 
man  which  Dr.  Worcester  became.  It  needs  but  little 
study  to  be  well  convinced  that  he  inherited  gifts  of 
mind  from  a  gifted  ancestry  ;  that  his  home  surround- 
ings were  well  adapted  to  bring  forward  to  symmetri- 
cal maturity  his  inherited  endowments,  and  that  his 
personal  purpose  was  early  formed  to  make  the  most 
out  of  his  native  ability. 

24 


Noticeable  among  the  traits  which  characterized 
him  as  a  boy  we  find  those  sterling  virtues,  fidelity  to 
duty,  unflinching  honesty,  a  readiness  to  help  others, 
a  prompt  condemnation  of  every  form  of  injustice,  and 
of  everything  false,  a  courage  and  perseverance  which 
rested  only  with  duty  done, — with  victory  won. 

After  graduating  from  the  University  he  was  for 
two  years  a  teacher  in  the  Seminary  of  which  his  par- 
ents were  the  principals.  At  this  time  he  was  much 
exercised  about  his  future.  He  had  marked  out  for 
himself  the  law  as  a  profession.  He  certainly  had  un- 
usual qualifications  for  success  in  that  calling.  His 
was  preeminently  a  legal,  a  judicial  mind.  He  also 
felt  urged  on  by  a  demand  from  within  him  to  take  up 
the  work  of  the  Gospel  Ministry.  A  genuine  conflict 
raged  in  his  mind.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  a  minister. 
Indeed,  he  very  much  wished  not  to  be,  but  he  was 
loyal  to  duty  as  it  was  made  plain  to  him,  and  when 
duty  became  plain,  personal  preferences  and  regrets 
were  at  an  end.  To  let  himself  speak  of  this  struggle, 
at  this  time,  the  following  from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Leavens 
says  : 

Before  my  eyes  now  lies  a  letter  written  under 
date,  Dec.  27,  1865.  He  had  taken  his  college  de- 
gree at  the  previous  commencement,  and  had  just 
recovered  from  a  "long  and  severe  illness."  His 
observations  about  his  illness  have  a  tender  interest, 
now  that  he  has  experienced  the  last  trial  on  earth. 

' '  Though  very  sick, ' '  says  he,  ' '  I  was  never  so 
low  as  to  appear  to  myself,  or,  I  think,  to  the  doctor, 
as  likely  to  die.  Still  I  was  brought  more  nearly  face 
to  face  with  death  than  at  any  time  before  within  my 

25 


recollection.  Of  course  I  was  led  to  think  much  of 
religious  things,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  I  gained 
some  ground  in  religious  experience  which  I  hope  I 
may  never  lose." 

My  young  friend  was  now  twenty  years  old.  I 
was  in  my  last  year  at  Union  Seminary,  in  its  old  loca- 
tion on  University  Place.  I  was  feeling  the  stimulus 
of  the  course,  under  Dr.  Henry  B.  Smith,  as  the  most 
powerful  uplift  in  my  intellectual  experience.  I  know 
not  what  I  may  have  written  to  Worcester,  but  he  re- 
plied very  freely  about  his  thoughts  and  plans.  I 
quote  his  words  literally  as  then  written  : 

' '  As  for  my  future  prospects they 

are  still  uncertain.  I  suppose,  however,  that  I  have 
pretty  much  given  up  the  idea  of  law,  and  with  it, 
most  of  my  ambitious  dreams.  The  question  now  is 
mainly  between  teaching  and  preaching.  My  con- 
science, I  confess,  sometimes  suggests  the  query, 
whether  it  is  any  the  less  a  contest  between  selfishness 
and  devotion  than  before,  the  selfishness  having  taken 
the  form  of  a  desire  of  ease,  instead  of  a  desire  of  dis- 
tinction. I  do  not  say  that  this  is  so,  for  I  am  not 
certain  that  it  is  ;  I  say  that  it  is  a  query  merely  which 
sometimes  suggests  itself  and  one  which  I  shall  not 
seek  to  evade.  I  shall  hardly  attempt  to  settle  the 
question,  however,  probably,  until  some  experience  in 
teaching  and  a  year  or  two  in  a  Theological  Seminary 
have  enabled  me  to  judge  better  than  I  can  at  present 
of  my  qualifications  for  either  profession.  But  I  do 
feel,  I  will  not  seek  to  disguise  it,  an  extreme  reluc- 
tance to  enter  the  ministry  such  that  nothing  but  a 
sense  of  duty  would  lead  me  to  think  of  it,  and  that  I 

26 


should  be  very  glad  to  find  that  duty  pointed  in  some 
other  direction.  It  is  not  (mainly  at  least),  that  I 
recoil  from  the  probable  obscurity  of  the  work,  nor 
altogether  that  I  dread  its  pressure.  It  results  from 
an  utter  incapacity  to  realize,  to  feel,  that  any  souls 
can  be  won  to  God,  by  anything  that  I  can  do  or  say, 
that  have  not  been  influenced  already  by  other  motives. 

It  is  of  no  use  to  reason  against  such  a  feeling  as 
this  ;  of  course,  I  know  the  unreasonableness  of  it,  and 
that  the  Spirit  of  God  can  impart  efficiency  to  the 
weakest,  as  it  must  to  the  most  powerful  human 
agency  ;  but  the  feeling  is  one  over  which  reason  has 
no  control,  and  which  can  only  be  removed  by  pray- 
ing :  'Lord,  help  mine  unbelief,'  and  struggling 
earnestly  for  a  higher  standard  of  piety  and  a  deeper 
faith.  It  is  in  this  way  substantially  that  I  am  strug- 
gling to  overcome  it,  and  hope  that  when  the  time 
comes  that  demands  a  decision,  I  may  not  only  be  en- 
abled to  see  my  way  clearly,  but  also,  if  it  should  be 
toward  the  ministry,  to  enter  upon  it  joyfully  and  cor- 
dially. But  however  this  may  be,  I  feel  satisfied  that 
whether  eagerly  like  Paul  or  reluctantly  like  Moses,  I 
shall  do  whatsoever  my  Master  shall  show  me  that 
he  would  have  me  do." 

This  was  from  the  young  man  at  twenty,  written 
to  be  read  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  that  seminary,  where 
afterwards  he  was  a  brilliant  student  and  an  honored 
professor,  and  from  whose  chapel  his  body  was  re- 
moved to  the  very  house  from  which  he  had  penned 
these  forecasts  of  his  lifework. 

It  is  well  that  they  spoke  praises  of  his  twenty 
years  of  noble  service  in  the  office  of  pastor  ;  well  also 

27 


to  honor  both  his  work  and  the  promise  of  his  career 
in  the  professor's  chair.  May  his  thorough  and  honest 
dealing  with  himself  in  choosing  the  ministry  help 
other  young  men  now  in  the  throes  of  that  strenuous 
debate  to  find  the  sure  and  joyous  way  !  " 

Although  not  consciously  to  himself,  his  future 
career  was  settled  for  the  ministry  when,  in  1867,  he 
entered  Union  Theological  Seminary.  In  1869  he 
went  to  Germany,  where  his  time  was  spent  chiefly  in 
the  study  of  the  German  language,  and  in  attendance 
on  theological  and  other  lectures,  first  at  Berlin,  where 
he  attended  theological  lectures  of  Professor  Dorner, 
and  afterwards  at  Leipsic. 

In  1870,  after  the  close  of  the  University  Semster, 
he  visited  Vienna,  and  then  went  from  Germany 
through  Switzerland  to  Milan,  returning  through  Swit- 
zerland and  Holland,  (Paris  being  at  that  time  besieged 
by  the  Germans,)  to  England,  and  after  short  tours  in 
England  and  in  Scotland,  to  his  home  in  America. 

In  the  autumn  of  1870  he  re-entered  Union  Semi- 
nary, from  which  he  graduated  in  1871.  In  the  fall 
of  this  year  he  was  employed  as  an  instructor  in  the 
University  of  Vermont,  and  "after  proving  his  ability 
to  succeed  as  a  teacher  he  was  called  to  a  permanent 
place  in  the  Faculty"  of  that  institution.  But  this  in- 
vitation he  felt  compelled  to  decline.  He  still  felt  that 
he  was  called  to  the  Ministry.  Before  graduating  from 
the  Seminary  he  had  preached  at  South  Orange,  New 
Jersey,  and  in  January  1872  he  was  settled  as  pastor 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church  there,  having  some  time 
before  accepted  the  call  given  him  by  that  church.  In 
this,  his  first  pastorate,  he  remained  until  he  was  called 

28 


to  become  the  pastor  of  The  Sixth  Presbyterian 
Church  of   Chicago. 

He  was  married  on  October  29,  1874,  to  Miss 
Harriet  W.  Strong,  a  daughter  of  Edward  Strong, 
M.  D.  of  Auburndale,  Massachusetts.  The  union  was 
a  most  happy  one.  Mrs.  Worcester  was  eminently 
worthy  of  Mr.  Worcester.  In  mental  and  moral  traits, 
in  earnestness  of  life  and  intensity  of  purpose  they 
were  much  alike.  It  is  no  discredit  to  his  memory  to 
say  that  to  her  sweet  spirit  and  womanly  character  he 
owed  not  a  little  of  what  distinguished  him  for  strong, 
virile  manhood. 

During  their  stay  in  South  Orange  there  were  born 
to  them  four  children,  Edward  Strong,  Martha  Clark, 
Leonard,  and  Katherine  Fleming.  Here,  too,  they 
were  called  to  mourn  the  first  break  in  the  family 
circle,  in  the  death  of  little  Martha  Clark,  when  a 
babe  of  only  seven  weeks  and  two  days  old.  She  died 
April  30,  1878.  At  this  time  and  in  this  bereavement 
we  get  a  glimpse  of  his  home  and  his  own  heart. 
Writing  to  his  friend  Dr.  Leavens,  under  date  of  May 
1 1,   1878,  he  says  : 

"Yes,  our  home  was  very  happy,  wondrously 
complete  it  seemed,  for  a  few  weeks.  And  it  is  very 
happy  still  ;  but  a  part  of  its  sweetness  has  exhaled,  to 

gladden  us  no  more  here I  have  always 

counted  children  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  of  our 

earthly    life Mrs.    Worcester,    I    am 

happy  to  say,  has  borne  this  sorrow  well,  both  physi- 
cally and  spiritually,  and  though  she  gains  strength 
slowly  still  continues  to  gain  steadily. 

We  both  found  our  God  unexpectedly  near,  and 

29 


gained  some  precious  experiences  of  his  love  and 
power  to  comfort,  which  in  a  measure  even  now  en- 
able us  to  discern  the  light  behind  the  cloud." 

When  shortly  after  this,  Dr.  Leavens  was  called 
on  to  mourn  the  loss  of  one  of  his  children,  Mr. 
Worcester  wrote  to  him  under  date  of  June  15,  1879  : 
"I  saw  with  great  pain  in  the  Tribune  that  you 
too  have  been  called  to  pass  through  the  same  sorrow 
which  came  to  us  a  year  ago,  and  my  first  thought  on 
seeing  the  notice  was  of  your  very  kind  letter  written 
then,  and  of  the  comfort  it  brought  us.  I  wish  that  I 
could  say  that  now  which  would  be  as  welcome  and 
helpful  to  you  as  your  words  then  were  to  me. 

Your  loss  is  even  greater  than  ours  ;  for  you  had 
your  treasure  longer,  and  every  day  these  little  ones 
stay  with  us  twists  a  new  strand  into  the  cord  that 
binds  us  to  them.  Still  there  is  no  time  when  our 
children  are  not  unspeakably  dear  ;  and  so  far,  we  can 
say  that  we  know  what  you  are  feeling  now. 

I  rejoice  to  think  that  we  also  know  what  comfort 
you  will  find  and  what  precious  lessons  you  will  learn 
in  the  valley  of  weeping.  Some  things  I  know  you 
will  find  that  will  be  very  precious.  You  will  find 
yourself  bound  by  a  new  tie  to  your  people, — to  those 
with  whom  you  have  prayed  by  the  side  of  their 
little  ones  fallen  asleep,  and  to  those  whose  sympathy 
has  been  your  earthly  help  and  comfort  in  this  trial. 

You  will  find  a  new  and  precious  power  given  you 
to  minister  in  such  scenes  in  time  to  come. 

You  will  find  Christ  dearer  and  his  grace  more 

real  and  more  sure,  and  all  the  promises  concerning 

them  that  sleep  in  Jesus  more  full  of  blessed  meaning 

than  ever  before. 

30 


Such  at  least  were  our  gains  ;  and  I  know  that 
yours  cannot  be  less.  And  though  I  often  wish  that 
my  little  girl  were  here,  and  as  I  see  other  children  of 
about  the  same  age 'that  she  would  be,  cannot  help  but 
think  what  a  joy  we  have  been  missing  all  these  months 
in  not  having  the  unfolding  of  that  baby  life  to  watch, 
yet  those  were  experiences  that  I  should  be  loth  to 
give  up,  experiences  that  make  those  days  now  as  I 
look  back  to  them,  seem  days  of  holy  joy  rather  than 
of  pain." 

As  showing  the  fidelity  with  which  he  discharged 
all  the  duties  of  a  Minister  of  Christ  while  with  this 
church,  the  following  touching  tribute  to  his  tender 
helpfulness  to  those  who  were  not  of  his  own  church 
seems  most  appropriate.  It  was  written  by  one  whose 
heart  he  had  touched  and  comforted,  many  years  ago. 
His  position  in  the  General  Assembly  at  Detroit  in 
1 89 1,  had  brought  him  more  prominently  before  the 
public  than  he  had  ever  been  brought  before.  Here  is 
what  is  said  of  his  quiet  work  while  in  charge  of  his 
first  church  : 

"While  Dr.  J.  H.  Worcester's  name  is  so  prom- 
inently before  our  churches,  will  you  permit  me  to  add 
a  word  of  praise,  not  of  his  scholarly  attainments  but 
of  his  character  as  a  fearless,  noble  Christian. 

About  twelve  years  ago  that  dreaded  scourge, 
scarlet  fever,  entered  our  home  and  claimed  two  of  our 
little  ones  as  its  victims.  After  the  death  of  the  second 
one,  our  pastor,  an  elderly,  delicate  man,  naturally 
feared  to  enter  the  house,  so  our  physician,  (a  member 
of  Mr.  Worcester's  church,)  kindly  suggested  our  send- 
ing for  his  pastor,  saying  he  knew  he  would  willingly 
come  to  us  in  our  trouble. 

31 


Although  an  entire  stranger  to  us,  with  a  large 
parish  of  his  own,  Mr.  Worcester  drove  nearly  three 
miles  to  our  home,  and  not  only  tenderly  officiated  at 
the  funeral,  but  aftewards  called  several  times  with 
messages  of  sympathy  and  consolation  from  the  only 
true  source  of  comfort  in  sorrow. 

To  us,  in  our  deep  grief  and  isolation,  he  seemed 
as  'one  sent  from  God,'  'an  angel  of  light.'  We  re- 
joice in  the  honor  that  has  been  conferred  upon  him." 

S.  D.  B.  M.  in  N.  Y.  Evangelist,  summer  of  1891. 

In  all  of  his  pastoral  work  here  as  elsewhere  he 
never  hesitated  to  go  with  his  message  of  consolation 
and  hope  wherever  it  was  deemed  safe  for  a  physician 
to  go. 

He  was  pastor  of  this,  his  first  charge,  for  eleven 
years.  Under  his  faithful  ministry  the  church  was 
greatly  prospered  ;  its  membership  was  increased  ;  its 
members  were  lifted  up  in  their  Christian  life.  Be- 
fore leaving  it  for  his  second  and  last  charge,  a  fine 
new  house  of  worship  was  completed  and  dedicated. 

When  he  entered  on  his  duties  as  pastor  of  the 
South  Orange  Church  he  was  not  fully  convinced  that 
he  had  wisely  chosen  the  right  calling.  Even  as  late  as 
May,  1879,  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been  altogether 
clear.  In  writing  to  Dr.  Leavens  at  this  time  about 
his  disappointment  over  the  failure  of  the  efforts  of  the 
preceding  winter  ' '  for  a  higher  standard  of  church 
life,"  he  adds:  "You  have  greatly  the  advantage  of 
me,  though,  in  one  respect.  You  feel  sure  that  you 
are  in  the  right  track  ;  that  you  are  doing  the  work 
God  wants  you  to  do.  I  dorit.  I  never  have  got  rid 
yet  of  the  uncertainty  which  attended  my  entrance  on 
the  ministry, — whether  that  is  my  work. 

32 


However,    it   appears  to  be  my  work  just   now. 

So  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  work 

on  day  by  day,  and  hope  that  sometime  I  may  find 
that  the  work  has  not  been  quite  so  barren  of  results 
as  it  now  seems  to  be." 

At  what  time  in  his  ministry  all  doubt  was  cleared 
away  concerning  its  being  the  work  God  had  chosen 
him  to  do  we  cannot  say.  No  declaration  by  himself, 
no  word  from  his  pen  has  come  to  us  on  this  subject. 
That  doubt  had  ceased  before  he  became  the  pastor  of 
the  Sixth  Church  in  Chicago  there  is  every  reason  to 
believe. 

The  South  Orange  Church  greatly  regretted  his 
decision  to  leave,  and  only  reluctantly  consented  to 
unite  with  him  in  a  request  to  Presbytery  for  a  termina- 
tion of  the  pastoral  relationship  to  permit  him  to 
accept  the  call  of  the  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Chicago. 

The  pulpit  of  the  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  had 
become  vacant.  Rev.  Henry  T.  Miller  had,  on  July 
1 6,  1882,  tendered  his  resignation  to  take  effect 
October  15th  following,  and  Presbytery  had  taken  ac- 
tion to  dissolve  the  relation  of  pastor  and  people.  A 
committee  to  secure  a  new  pastor  had  been  appointed 
and  for  some  time  had  been  at  work  to  find  a  successor 
to  Mr.  Miller  when  the  name  of  Mr.  Worcester  was 
brought  to  their  attention.  A  member  of  the  church 
being  in  New  York,  on  business,  was  asked  by  the 
committee  to  go  to  South  Orange  and  hear  Mr. 
Worcester  preach  and  make  report. 

This  report  was  so  favorable  and  so  well  agreed 
with    what   had  come   to  the   committee    from  other 

33 


sources  that  a  meeting  of  the  Church  and  Society  was 
called  and  the  whole  matter  laid  before  it.  Power  was 
given  to  the  committee  to  call  Mr.  Worcester  if  deemed 
best,  and,  clothed  with  this  authority,  two  members  of 
the  committee — Mr.  J.  W.  Helmer  and  Mr.  George  H. 
Wells,  visited  South  Orange  and  called  on  Mr. 
Worcester.  From  all  that  could  be  learned  from  those 
whom  the  visiting  committee  consulted,  as  well  as 
from  the  judgment  formed  by  hearing  him  preach,  it 
was  deemed  important  to  have  him  preach  to  the  Sixth 
Church.  As  he  was  to  be  in  Chicago  to  preach  the 
sermon  at  the  installation  of  the  Rev.  S.  J.  McPherson 
as  pastor  of  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church,  on  Sun- 
day evening,  Nov.  19,  the  committee  tried  to  get  from 
Mr.  Worcester  a  promise  to  occupy  the  pulpit  of  the 
Sixth  Church  on  the  morning  of  the  same  day.  To  this 
he  would  not  listen  at  all  as  the  pulpit  was  vacant  and 
his  occupying  it  under  such  circumstances  would,  or 
could  be  interpreted  as  ' '  candidating. 

He  was  informed  that  the  church  had  clothed  its 
committee  with  full  power  to  call  him  to  the  vacant 
pastorate,  and  that  call  the  committee  then  offered 
him.  This  opened  the  way  for  less  reserve  in  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  question,  on  his  part,  than  he  had,  up 
to  this  time,  exercised.  Mr.  J.  W.  Helmer,  a  member 
of  that  visiting  committee,  says  :  ' '  When  the  com- 
mittee called  on  him  to  invite  him  to  come  to  Chicago, 
he  seemed  much  surprised  and  not  at  all  favorably  in- 
clined to  consider  the  call.  The  committee  presented 
to  him  the  field  to  which  they  invited  him  and  urged 
such  reasons  as  they  could  to  induce  him  to  come  and 
see  it  for  himself.    In  a  very  frank  manner  he  replied  : 

34 


'  I  have  thought  the  time  might  come  when  it  would 
seem  desirable  for  me  to  make  a  change.  This  is  my 
first  pastorate  and  I  have  been  here  eleven  years.  It 
is  generally  thought  better  for  a  minister  to  change 
once  at  least,  in  his  life,  but  I  have  no  wish  to  go  to  a 
large  city.  I  think  I  am  better  adapted  to  work  in  a 
village,  or  a  small  city.  It  is  difficult  for  me  to  make 
new  acquaintances,  and  the  demands  of  a  large  city 
upon  a  pastor  are  such  that  I  do  not  think  it  would  be 
best  for  you  nor  for  me  to  undertake  them.'  This  was 
said  with  such  transparent  sincerity  and  earnestness, 
that  the  committee  were  still  more  strongly  impressed 
in  his  favor.  He  frankly  stated  that  he  did  not  be- 
lieve he  possessed  the  gifts  which  would  win  people  to 
the  church.  Whatever  strength  he  had  lay  in  the 
direction  of  training,  educating,  and  building  up  those 
who  had  already  been  brought  into  it.  So  little  did  he 
seem  to  desire  to  undertake  the  work  to  which  he  was 
invited  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  he  was 
to  be  in  the  city  at  the  installation  of  his  personal 
friend,  Rev.  S.  J.  McPherson,  it  was  the  opinion  of  the 
committee,  he  could  not  have  been  induced  to  visit 
Chicago  for  the  purpose  of  looking  over  the  field." 

He  finally  consented  to  occupy  the  pulpit  of  the 
Sixth  Church  at  the  morning  service  on  Sunday,  Nov. 
19,  1882,  and  did  so,  preaching  the  least  acceptable 
sermon  he  ever  preached  from  it.  He  spent  a  few 
days  in  Chicago,  and  led  the  church  prayer-meeting 
on  the  following  Wednesday  evening,  a  practically  un- 
animous call  having  been  reaffirmed  in  a  vote  by  ballot 
on  the  evening  before.  He  would  make  no  promises, 
and  gave  no  indication  of  what  his  decision  would  be 

35 


until  he  should  have  returned  home  and  considered  the 
whole  matter  with  the  deliberation  which  the  gravity 
of  the  question  demanded.  In  all  of  his  conferences 
with  the  committee,  with  the  Session,  or  with  individ- 
ual members,  the  question  of  salary  was  never  men- 
tioned by  him,  nor  was  any  word  spoken  indicating 
what  amount  he  would  accept.  He  did  make  careful 
and  critical  inquiry  about  the  work  of  the  church  as 
indicated  by  its  contributions  to  the  various  Boards  of 
the  church  and  to  benevolent  objects. 

In  due  time  he  communicated  his  acceptance  of 
the  call  that  had  been  made,  and  entered  upon  his 
work  as  pastor  of  his  second  and  last  charge,  preach- 
ing his  inaugural  sermon  on  the  second  Sunday  of 
February,  his  installation  taking  place  February  13, 
1883.  He  continued  to  be  pastor  of  the  church  until 
Sunday,  September  6,  1891,  when  the  pulpit  was,  by 
order  of  Presbytery,  declared  vacant.  He  had  resigned 
in  order  to  accept  the  chair  of  Systematic  Theology  in 
Union  Seminary,  New  York  City,  to  which  he  had  been 
elected.  During  the  eight  and  a  half  years  of  his  pas- 
torate and  work  in  Chicago,  it  may  safely  be  said  that 
the  best  work  of  his  life  was  done.  He  had  reached 
the  years  of  mature  life  when  he  commenced  it.  The 
experience  of  his  first  charge  was  the  substantial  foun- 
dation on  which  he  began  building  in  his  second.  He 
was  in  the  best  of  health  during  the  whole  time  ;  the 
demands  of  a  large  church  in  a  great  city  called  for  the 
best  which  his  matured  power  could  give  ;  his  personal 
sense  of  obligation  in  view  of  greatly  enlarged  oppor- 
tunity, all  united  to  secure  from  him  the  best  and  the 
largest  work  of  his  life. 

36  \ 


What  he  was,  and  what  he  did,  therefore,  in  Chi- 
cago will  be  the  best  exponent  of  the  man.  But  the 
man  is  more  than  what  he  does, — greater  than  any 
phase  of  his  work.  It  will  therefore  be  in  order  first 
to  note  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 

Much  has  already  been  said  of  his  inherited  intel- 
lectual power,  of  his  moral  and  religious  bias,  derived 
from  a  gifted  and  pious  ancestry.  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  be  the  heir  to  such  a  patrimony.  It  is  greater  still 
to  live  so  as  to  prove  one's  self  worthy  of  it,  and  to 
improve  it  by  greatly  increasing  it  through  well 
directed  use. 

In  many  respects  Dr.  Worcester  was  a  remark- 
able man.  His  personal  presence  was  striking.  His 
face  told  the  story  of  great  thoughtfulness,  intense 
earnestness,  and  frank,  downright  honesty.  His  re- 
serve of  manner  probably  led  to  greater  misunderstand- 
ing of  the  man  than  anything  else  about  him.  He  was 
judged  by  many  as  without  warmth  of  sympathy,  by 
some  as  haughty.  He  was  neither.  By  a  few  he  was 
judged  as  caring  little  for  the  company  and  the  con- 
fidences of  ordinary  people,  less  gifted  than  himself. 
The  exact  opposite  of  this  was  the  simple  truth. 

He  was  exceptionally  modest  in  the  best  sense 
of  the  term.  His  modesty  often  amounted  to 
embarrassing  timidity  ;  and  in  miscellaneous  society 
his  diffidence  was  extreme  to  the  last  degree.  He 
shrank  from  every  avoidable  publicity  at  all  times. 
This  diffidence  was  unquestionably  a  great  hindrance 
to  him  in  many  departments  of  his  work.  Young  peo- 
ple, and  people  timid  and  diffident  like  himself, 
unavoidably  misunderstood  him  and  reached  conclu- 

37 


sions  regarding  him  which  prevented  his  acquiring  the 
influence  over  them  he  otherwise  would  have  gained. 
Thus  judging  there  were  those  who  delighted  to  hear 
hi-m  preach  who  yet  shrank  from  meeting  him  face  to 
face.  When  the  University  of  Vermont,  in  1885,  con- 
ferred on  him  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity,  he 
shrank  from  accepting  it,  and  urged  his  own  people  to 
continue  to  call  him  Mr.  Worcester.  From  his  friends 
he  never  wished  to  hear  the  title  applied  to  him,  and 
called  the  writer  of  this  to  task  for  having  had  D.  D. 
printed  on  a  pamphlet  of  his  sermons.  He  had  very 
little  use  for  titles  or  for  the  personal  pronoun  of  the 
first  person. 

He  was  an  intensely  earnest  man.  Life,  with  him, 
was  a  mission  at  all  times.  Opportunity  amounted  to 
obligation.  Time  was  not  money  as  so  often  falsely 
put, — it  was  life,  it  was  opportunity,  it  was  high  re- 
sponsibility. This  intense  earnestness,— this  habitual 
looking  on  the  side  of  responsibility  left  little  time  for 
the  trivial  things  which  fill  up  so  large  a  space  in  the 
life  of  many.  It  is  possible  that  it  sometimes  led  him 
to  judge  small  things  as  trivial  which  were  really  im- 
portant, thereby  preventing  his  wielding  the  influence 
over  some  whom,  had  he  judged  otherwise,  he  might 
have  reached. 

With  all  right  thinking  people  time  is  precious. 
With  him  it  was  sacred.  To  use  it,  and  use  it  all  to 
the  best  advantage  was  his  high  duty.  Every  day  had 
its  duties, — every  hour  its  share.  Fully  alive  to 
the  importance  of  every  moment,  he  was  always 
prompt  in  meeting  his  engagements.  He  would  allow 
no  one  to  waste  time  waiting  for  him  to  meet  an  ap- 

38 


pointment.  Failure  on  the  part  of  others  to  be 
equally  prompt  tried  his  patience  and  vexed  him  as 
scarcely  anything  else  could  do. 

He  was  eminently  an  honest  man.  His  abhorrence 
of  all  pretense  and  sham  led  him  at  all  times  to  guard 
his  words  as  well  as  his  actions.  This  accounted  for 
much  of  his  reserve  in  speech.  He  would  not  over 
state  his  feelings,  nor  pretend  to  what  he  did  not  feel. 
He  had  no  supply  of  ready-made  compliments  ;  no  set 
form  of  greeting  ;  no  meaningless  terms  of  endearment. 
He  was  too  honest  for  anything  of  the  kind.  This 
often  prevented  his  saying  much.  He  could  not 
"gush."  But  he  was  not  cold,  he  was  not  indifferent 
to  the  interests,  or  even  to  the  judgments  of  others. 
Beneath  a  calm,  but  not  a  cold  exterior  he  had  a 
warm,  a  tender,  a  sympathetic  heart.  His  known 
moderation  of  speech  as  well  as  his  acknowledged 
honesty  and  sincerity  gave  added  force  to  his  expressed 
sympathy  in  time  of  trouble.  His  words  spoken  in  the 
sick  room  or  in  the  house  of  mourning  are  yet  cher- 
ished as  precious  memories.  If  his  words  of  praise 
were  few,  words  of  dispraise  from  him  were  still  more 
rare.  Charity  was  a  foundation  element  of  his  hon- 
esty. If  his  sincerity  led  him  to  speak  guardedly,  his 
honest  purpose  forbade  his  judging  hastily  or  unjustly. 
He  was  more  severe  with  himself  than  with  any  one 
else,  and  much  more  severe  than  any  others  ever 
thought  of  being  toward  him.  Frank  commendation, 
when  stated  in  terms  of  moderation,  he  appreciated 
and  accepted.  Adulation,  or  fulsome  praise  he  could 
not  endure.  Criticism  he  always  accepted  with  the 
best  grace  if  honestly  made.    That  it  rarely  led  him  to 

39 


change  was  not  because  he  did  not  consider  it,  but  be- 
cause he  had  so  thoroughly  considered  what  was  criti- 
cized before  it  was  done  and  had  followed  what  to  him 
was  the  only  right  course  that,  honestly,  he  could  not 
change.  There  was  no  disrespect  intended  nor  was 
there  any  want  of  appreciation  of  the  value  of  the 
criticism  from  the  position  of  the  one  who  offered  it, 
but  simply  an  inability  to  accept  it  as  his  position  had 
been  clearly  taken  on  the  best  judgment  he  could  com- 
mand. When  he  became  satisfied  that  he  had  not 
chosen  wisely,  none  could  be  more  frank  in  promptly 
admitting  it,  nor  could  any  one  have  been  more  grate- 
ful to  those  who  led  him  to  see  it.  His  iron  will  made 
him  exacting  of  himself,  sustaining  him  in  the  perform- 
ance of  all  that  he  conceived  to  be  duty.  He  was  natu- 
rally of  an  exceedingly  nervous  temperament  although 
presenting  an  unusually  calm  exterior.  It  was  sheer 
strength  of  will-power  which  preserved  his  outward 
calmness  and  which  impelled  him  and  sustained  him 
in  all  that  he  did,  and  which  ever  made  him  complete 
master  of  himself.  He  was  no  petty  tyrant  as  many 
men  of  strong  will  are  apt  to  be.  Indeed  he  was  un- 
usually considerate  of  others  and  readily  found  excuses 
for  their  failures  which  he  would  in  no  way  have  coun- 
tenanced in  himself.  In  the  home  circle  he  was  tender, 
loving,  confiding.  He  took  peculiar  delight  in  his 
children  and  entered  into  their  amusements  and  diver- 
sions with  great  delight  and  enthusiasm.  He  took  the 
greatest  interest  in  their  school  work  and  always  took 
delight  in  helping  them.  His  clear  explanations,  with 
his  ready  power  of  illustration,  lifted  them  over  their 
difficulties.      But  he  was  equally  considerate  of  their 

40 


wishes  where  only  gratification  of  harmless  desire  was 
involved.  It  was  no  small  trouble  to  take  their  pet 
cat  all  the  way  from  Chicago  to  New  York,  but  he 
could  not  consent  to  leave  it  behind  when  his  children 
wished  to  take  it  along. 

He  was  naturally  a  student.  His  classmates  in 
college  bear  testimony  to  his  thoroughness  in  every 
department  of  college  work.  Others  have  made  equally 
good  records  in  college  work,  stimulated  by  a  desire 
to  excel  their  classmates,  who,  when  the  stimulus  was 
withdrawn,  ceased  their  effort  and  failed  to  distinguish 
themselves  in  after  life.  Dr.  Worcester's  ambition 
was  to  excel  himself, — to  bring  his  actual  self  up  to  his 
ideal  self.  This  is  only  another  phase  of  his  honesty 
of  character,  Nothing  short  of  complete  mastery  of 
his  subject, — the  fullest  obtainable  information  on  all 
its  details  would  satisfy  himu  One  whose  constant 
purpose  is  to  excel  himself  can  never  cease  to  be  a 
student  and  consequently  never  ceases  to  grow  in 
mental  strength  and  mental  furnishing.  With  those 
whose  ambition  is  only  to  excel  others,  study  usually 
ceases  when  opportunity  for  comparison  is  at  an  end. 
With  Dr.  Worcester  study  was  a  constant  delight. 
Knowledge  concerning  a  new  subject,  increased  knowl- 
edge of  an  old  one  were  always  eagerly  sought.  So  it 
came  that  when  he  spoke  on  any  subject  he  spoke 
clearly,  forcibly,  orderly,  logically,  exhaustively,  for  he 
had  compassed  the  subject  in  his  own  mind  ;  he  under- 
stood it,  and  spoke  from  the  fullness  of  one  who  was 
able  to  hold  the  subject  up  for  view,  for  discussion;, 
usually  for  settlement. 

His  wonderful  power  of  analysis,    his  mastery  of 

41 


clear  statement  were  too  much  regarded  as  native  en- 
dowments of  mind.  No  doubt  his  mind  had  an  original 
analytical  and  logical  bias,  much  beyond  that  of  most 
men,  but  it  was  also  well  furnished  for  its  task  by  care- 
ful study  and  patient  research.  It  may  be  assumed 
that  he  believed  the  maxim  of  Seneca  "All  are  suf- 
ficiently eloquent  in  that  which  they  understand." 
That  he  might  understand  he  read  widely,  but  he  also 
thought  patiently  and  critically.  Through  this  thor- 
ough study  and  complete  mastery  of  the  subjects  to 
which  he  gave  his  thought,  he  was  usually  ready  to 
call  up  at  once  all  he  knew  and  had  thought  on  a 
subject,  and  to  state  all  so  clearly,  so  forcibly,  so  com- 
prehensively that  he  rarely  failed  to  carry  his  hearers 
with  him.  In  a  degree  not  at  all  common,  even  among 
trained  scholars,  his  mind  seemed  intuitively  to  brush 
aside  all  irrelevant  questions,  to  eliminate  all  non-es- 
sentials, and  to  state  the  simple  problem  thus  freed 
from  its  cumbrous  surroundings,  so  clearly  that  his 
statement  of  the  problem  was  very  generally  its 
solution. 

He  was  a  true  friend.  He  gave  his  heart  in  full 
measure  when  a  worthy  heart  was  given  in  return. 
None  prized  ingenuous  friendship  more  highly  than  he. 
His  whole  being  spoke  when  he  unbosomed  himself  to 
one  who  could  understand  him  and  who  thoroughly 
sympathized  with  him.  In  the  intimacy  of  friendship 
his  natural  restraint  was  forgotten,  and  he  was 
sprightly,  full  of  keen  but  always  kindly  humor.  Few 
men  had  greater  capacity  for  genuine  friendship. 

As  a- preacher  Dr.  Worcester  was  peculiarly  gifted. 
His  oratory  was  of  a  high  order.     His  thought  was 

42 


always  clear  and  strong,  his  choice  of  language  through 
which  his  thought  was  expressed  was  of  the  finest. 
His  treatment  of  his  theme  was  comprehensive,  logi- 
cal, exhaustive.  His  appeal  was  very  largely  to  the 
intellect  and  the  conscience.  He  made  comparatively 
rare  appeal  to  the  emotions.  His  wide  reading  and 
careful  study  enabled  him  to  flash  light  on  the  discus- 
sion of  his  theme  by  illustrations  from  nature,  science, 
art,  and  literature,  as  well  as  from  the  daily  duties  and 
ordinary  every-day  experiences  of  the  people  whom  he 
addressed.  His  rhetoric  was  elegant, — always  pure, 
always  strong.  With  great  gift  for  rhetorical  embel- 
lishment he  never  indulged  it  except  for  the  most 
direct  and  pertinent  purpose.  His  figures  were  drawn 
from  a  very  wide  range  and  were  always  strikingly  ap- 
propriate. Figures  and  illustrations  were  used  by  him 
for  their  legitimate  purpose  only,  and  he  never  pur- 
sued either  a  single  step  beyond  the  point  where  it  had 
served  its  purpose.  He  was  not  and  could  not  have 
been  what  is  regarded  as  a  "popular  preacher."  He 
had  few  of  the  gifts  which  attract  large  audiences,  none 
of  those  which  attract  the  purely  curious.  He  was  too 
close  a  student,  too  severely  logical  a  thinker  with  too 
much  of  a  metaphysical  bias  in  his  habit  of  thought 
and  form  of  statement  to  entertain  or  to  please.  But 
he  was  an  unusually  clear  and  forcible  speaker.  In  his 
masterful  ability  to  analyze  a  complex  and  difficult 
question,  strip  away  all  irrelevancies,  place  the  several 
parts  in  their  proper  order,  and  hold  up  and  enforce 
that  which  is  essential,  he  had  few  equals  and  no  supe- 
rior in  the  Chicago  pulpit.  In  handling  a  text  or 
a  theme  he  wasted  no  time  on  the  surface  questions 

43 


and  obvious  truths.  His  penetrating  mind  dug  deep 
and  brought  to  view  the  richer  jewels  of  thought  which, 
but  for  his  penetration,  would  have  been  overlooked. 
More  than  most  ministers  he  confined  himself 
within  what  many  would  call  a  comparatively  narrow 
range  in  his  preaching.  His  inaugural  sermon  in  the 
Sixth  Church  had  for  its  text  ' '  I  seek  not  yours,  but 
you"  ;  and  his  farewell  sermon,  from  the  text  "  For  I 
determined  not  to  know  anything  among  you  save 
Jesus  Christ  and  him,  crucified."  All  of  his  preaching 
during  the  years  between  these  two  sermons  was  true 
to  the  spirit  and  declaration  of  each.  He  not  only 
felt,  but  he  publicly  said :  ' '  Christian  preaching  is 
concerned  with  but  one  thing,  to  make  Jesus  Christ 
known  to  men  and  bring  them  into  touch  with  his  liv- 
ing personality."  If  it  is  claimed  that  this  view  is  a 
narrow  one,  here  are  his  own  words  on  the  subject  : 
"A  narrow  theme  ?  Very  well.  But  narrowness  means 
concentration,  and  concentration  means  power.  There 
are  many  things,  in  themselves  worthy  objects  of 
study — history,  science,  statesmanship,  literature — 
with  which  the  preacher  as  a  preacher  has  noth- 
ing to  do.  As  a  man  they  may  interest  him.  And 
the  more  he  knows  of  them,  in  other  words  the 
broader  his  culture,  the  better  preacher,  other 
things  being  equal,  he  will  make.  But  these 
things  are  no  part  of  his  message.  There  are 
many  public  affairs  in  which  as  a  citizen  it  is  the 
preacher's  business  to  be  interested.  But  as  a  preacher 
they  constitute  no  part  of  his  mission.  Just  in  propor- 
tion as  he  forgets  the  limitations  of  that  mission  and 
seeks  to  turn  his  pulpit  into  a  lyceum  platform  for  the 

44 


discussion  of  the  sundry  'topics  of  the  day,'  just  in 
that  proportion  will  he  rob  his  ministry  of  all  its  dis- 
tinctive power.  The  secret  of  that  power  lies  in 
keeping  before  the  minds  of  men  immersed  in  worldli- 
ness,  distracted  with  doubt,  beset  with  temptation, 
burdened  with  care,  in  all  its  sweet  attractiveness,  its 
manifold  sympathy,  and  its  divine  majesty,  the  person 
of  Jesus  Christ. 

And  the  more  intensely  he  feels  the  power  of  that 
personality,  and  believes  in  its  divinity,  the  less  incli- 
nation will  he  have  to  do  anything  else.  The  ages  of 
gospel  conquest,  the  ages  of  faith,  have  always  been 
marked  by  this  sort  of  narrowness.  It  is  when  preach- 
ers begin  to  lose  faith  in  a  divine  Christ  and  in  an  aton- 
ing cross,  that  they  are  impelled  to  resort  to  Shakesper- 
ian  readings  and  lectures  on  art  and  courses  in  history 
and  science  for  the  improvement  of  their  hearers.  So 
when  a  jet  of  steam  issues  from  the  safety  valve  of  an 
engine,  so  long  as  the  expansive  power  which  drives  it 
forth  continues,  it  is  narrow,  almost  cylindrical.  Only 
as  that  impulse  is  exhausted  does  it  spread  itself  out 
in  all  directions,  a  cold  damp  cloud,  without  form  and 
without  force." 

But  the  narrowness  is  apparent  rather  than  real. 
Closer  study  will  easily  reveal  its  breadth.  It  is  wide 
enough  to  embrace  all  of  man's  relations  to  God  ;  all 
of  God's  love  for  man.  But  on  this  it  will  be  best  to 
have  his  own  words  also.      They  are  as  follows  : 

' '  But  if,  at  first  view,  we  are  struck  with  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  preacher's  work,  we  are  even  more  im- 
pressed on  a  second  view  with  its  breadth.  '  Nothing 
save  Jesus  Christ ' !     But  the  infinities  and  the  eterni- 

45 


ties  are  in  that  theme.      God  and  man  are  there. 

In  Jesus  Christ  we  have  the  ideal  manhood  ;  and 
all  that  concerns  the  building  up  of  such  a  manhood 
comes  within  the  compass  of  this  theme.  The  whole 
domain  of  character,  the  whole  sphere  of  morals,  is 
embraced  within  the  scope  of  that  spotless  life  and 
those  perfect  precepts. 

But  Jesus  was  also  '  God  manifest  in  the  flesh '. 
All  that  we  can  comprehend,  all  that  we  shall  ever 
know  of  God  we  shall  know  in  him  and  through  him 
as  the  Word,  the  Revealer. 

Jesus  Christ  is  the  Redeemer  from  all  evil.  He  is 
the  great  Comforter,  the  great  Burden-bearer,  the 
Friend  by  whose  sympathy  every  sorrow  is  soothed, 
and  whose  sustaining  arm  supports  under  every  cross. 

In  Him  is  the  power  of  victory  over  sin.  The 
tempted,  the  struggling,  the  slaves  of  vice,  the  out- 
casts from  society,  aye,  even  '  the  devil's  castaways ', 
all  may  find  in  him  the  hope  and  energy  for  a  new 
life. 

Jesus  Christ  is  the  conqueror  of  death.  The  mys- 
teries of  the  endless  future  are  unfolded  through  Him 
who  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light. 

Jesus  Christ  is  the  head  of  a  perfected  society,  the 
founder  of  the  kingdom  of  God  in  whose  triumph  lies 
the  only  hope  for  the  reform  of  governments,  for  the 
reconciliation  of  the  antagonism  of  labor  and  capital, 
for  the  bringing  together  of  rich  and  poor,  for  the 
elevation  of  the  masses,  and  for  the  solution  of  the 
desperate  problems  at  which  social  science  stands 
aghast  and  which  sometimes  threaten  the  overthrow  of 
the  existing  civilization." 

46 


He  was  preeminently  an  educating  preacher,  lead- 
ing those  whom  he  reached  to  examine,  compare, 
judge,  and  determine  largely  after  his  own  method. 
He  readily  brought  his  people  to  view  duty,  in  a 
measure,  as  he  did.  Thus  it  came  about  that  his 
church  was  so  thoroughly  educated  and  trained  that  its 
strength  could  promptly  be  united  and  directed  to  any 
worthy  undertaking.  The  year  just  preceding  his 
first  year  as  pastor  of  the  Sixth  Church,  the  total  con- 
tributions of  the  church  to  the  various  Boards  was 
$1486.00.  The  last  year  of  his  pastorate  the  contribu- 
tions amounted  to  $3083.00,  and  certainly  with  no 
increase  of  contributing  wealth  represented  in  the  con- 
gregation. Large  increase  of  contributions  for  various 
objects  as  well  as  wholly  new  objects  of  church  activ- 
ity, not  through  the  Church  Boards,  had  also  been 
made.  Dr.  Worcester's  ideals  of  Christian  life  and  re- 
sponsibility were  high.  Courageously  and  persistently 
he  pressed  these  ideals  upon  his  people,  until,  in  good 
measure,  they  accepted  them.  The  great  increase  in 
benevolences  was  directly  the  result  of  the  education 
which  he  had  carried  forward  by  his  preaching,  by  his 
pastoral  labors,  and  above  all,  which  he  had  enforced 
by  his  personal  example  of  systematic  giving.  His 
earnestness  of  spirit  and  directness  of  purpose  together 
with  his  admitted  sincerity  made  his  preaching  impres- 
sive. The  orderly  and  natural  arrangement  of  his  dis- 
courses ;  their  careful  division  into  propositions  for 
consideration  ;  their  logical  structure  and  compactness 
made  them  easily  remembered  and  easy  to  call  up 
months,  and  even  years,  after  their  delivery. 

His  preaching  was  mainly  from  manuscript,  al- 
47 


though  he  often  preached  without.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  he  was,  as  a  rule,  as  successful  in  his  unwritten 
discourses  as  in  those  that  were  written.  Still  even 
here  he  was  remarkably  strong.  In  all  of  his  preach- 
ing and  in  his  prayer-meeting  talks  he  made  large  de- 
mands on  his  hearers.  Everything  he  said  was  so 
organically  related  to  the  rest  that  no  one  could  hear 
portions  of  what  he  said  with  interest  or  with  profit. 
One  must  hear  it  all, — must  think  it  all,  feel  it  all  to 
get  what  was  meant  or  even  to  become  interested  in 
it.  Neither  a  lazy  nor  a  listless  hearer  would  or  could 
keep  up  much  interest  in  his  preaching.  It  has  some- 
times been  said,  possibly  truly,  that  Dr.  Worcester's 
preaching  and  teaching  demanded  more  of  his  hearers 
than  can  be  given  by  many  people  of  every  ordinary 
congregation.  Whether  this  were  true  or  not,  those 
who  tried  to  follow  him  and  strove  to  appreciate  him 
soon  found  their  interest  growing  and  made  very  rapid 
progress  in  ability  to  profit  by  his  teaching.  His  ser- 
mons never  disappointed.  He  often  surprised  those 
even  who  admired  his  preaching  most.  As  a  result 
many  of  his  sermons,  by  special  request,  were  printed 
and  distributed  among  his  people.  He  delivered  sev- 
eral courses  of  sermons  and  these  were  exceptionally 
strong.  Very  many  beyond  his  own  congregation  read 
with  great  interest  as  well  as  with  much  profit  his 
' '  Sermons  on  Womanhood  ' '  and  ' '  Sermons  on 
Money."  So  careful  was  he  in  the  preparation  of  his 
discourses  that,  when  he  was  asked  to  furnish  them  for 
printing,  no  material  change  had  ever  to  be  made  to 
prepare  them  for  the  compositor. 

As  a  pastor  Dr.  Worcester  was  a  model  of  fidelity. 
48 


He  constantly  sought  the  highest  good  of  all  whom  he 
was  called  upon  to  counsel.  His  reserve  of  manner 
coupled  with  a  hereditary  bashfulness  and  timidity,  not 
common  with  one  of  his  recognized  ability,  prevented 
his  making  acquaintances  and  friendships  as  quickly  as 
might  have  been  desirable.  His  thorough  loyalty  to 
his  own  heart  forbade  any  effusiveness  of  expression 
and  made  impossible  a  display  of  feelings  which  he  did 
not  entertain.  It  also,  many  times,  prevented  the  full 
expression  of  deepest  feelings  which  he  did  entertain, 
and  led  to  judgments  concerning  him,  by  those  not 
fully  acquainted  with  him,  which  did  him  injustice,  and 
made  them  the  losers. 

He  was  a  man  of  very  tender  heart,  and  of  very 
keen  and  deep  feeling.  He  loved  his  people  with  a 
fervency  which  he  had  little  power  to  put  in  words.  It 
was  in  times  of  trouble  and  sorrow  or  bereavement 
that  his  lips  were  opened  and  the  fulness  and  tender- 
ness of  his  heart  had  free  expression.  He  had  learned 
in  the  school  of  experience  what  it  is  to  have  the  family 
circle  broken.  Out  of  this  experience  he  could  speak 
words  which  often  calmed  the  tumult  of  grief  and  grew 
sweeter  and  more  sustaining  when  the  overwhelming 
tempest  of  acute  grief  had  passed  by. 

He  had  no  time  for  mere  visiting, — no  taste  for 
idle  gossip  or  fruitless  chatter.  He  was  intensely  in 
earnest  and  awake  to  the  importance  of  time  and  the 
responsibility  of  his  ' '  calling ' '  even  in  his  pastoral  visits. 
Formal  religionists  and  those  who  lived  on  a  low  plane 
of  experience  undoubtedly  did  not  appreciate  or  highly 
value  his  society,  but  the  hungry  soul  he  fed,  and  gave 
courage  to  the  fainting  heart. 

49 


It  is  not  necessary  to  deny  that  had  he  possessed 
in  larger  measure  the  faculty  of  becoming  more  inter- 
ested in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  people  less  gifted  and 
thoughtful,  as  well  as  less  earnest  than  himself,  it 
would  have  increased  his  usefulness.  Could  he  have 
removed  some  of  the  restraint  and  spoken,  at  times, 
more  freely  of  his  feelings  and  sympathies,  it  cannot 
be  doubted  his  influence  and  helpfulness  would  have 
been  greater  at  the  time.  It  will  not  be  questioned, 
however,  that  his  pastoral  work,  even  more  than  his 
preaching,  survived  his  separation  from  his  people.  No 
scepticism  can  brush  aside  his  consistent  life  and  ex- 
ample. No  doubt  can  long  live  in  the  presence  of  the  rec- 
ollection of  his  steady  faith.  No  shocks  of  faith  from 
the  failures  of  fulsome  professors  can  triumph  over  his 
transparent,  downright  consistency.  He  will  be  longer 
remembered  for  his  sincerity  than  for  his  power  of 
logical  statement  ;  longer  for  his  consecrated  earnest- 
ness than  for  his  gifts  of  oratory. 

He  was  always  and  on  all  occasions  a  consistent 
minister  of  the  Gospel.  His  "  daily  walk  and  conver- 
sation "  never  belied  his  pulpit  ministrations.  An 
every  day  Christian,  his  influence  is  felt  and  acknowl- 
edged as  much  as  it  was  when  he  walked  our  streets 
and  went  in  and  out  before  us. 

His  service  to  the  Church  at  large  was  the  same 
in  kind  as  for  the  individual  church  of  which  he  was 
pastor.  He  had  come  to  feel  an  intense  interest  in  the 
great  city  where  his  lot  had  been  cast.  He  saw  its  need 
of  Christ  as  the  solution  of  all  the  problems  growing 
out  of  the  conflicting  interests  which  disturb  its 
peace.      He  saw  the  danger  of  its  great  wealth,  beget- 

50 


ting  selfishness  and  tending  to  indulgence  ;  the  perils  of 
its  wretched  poverty,  breeding  hatred  and  tending  to 
despair  or  lawless  rebellion. 

Firmly  did  he  believe  that  the  religion  of  Jesus 
Christ  accepted  in  the  heart  and  lived  in  conduct,  and 
nothing  else,  could  make  rich  and  poor  live  together  in 
loving  bonds  of  brotherhood,  mutually  helpful  to  one 
another.  This,  and  this  alone,  would  make  the  pros- 
perous awake  to  their  responsibility  ;  would  nerve  the 
poor  and  the  unfortunate  to  bear  their  burdens.  As  a 
Presbyter,  therefore,  he  was  prominent  in  all  the  work 
which  the  Church  undertook  for  the  evangelization  of 
the  city.  An  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of  Missions, 
Home  and  Foreign,  he  was  equally  energetic  in  his 
work  for  the  needy,  the  ignorant,  and  the  vicious 
directly  about  his  own  door. 

The  Presbyterian  League  has  for  its  object  the 
support  of  the  Gospel  in  communities  which,  but  for 
its  assistance,  would  be  in  danger  of  abandoning  church 
work  already  begun.  It  helps  feeble  churches  by  timely 
assistance  until  they  can  meet  their  obligations  and 
carry  on  their  work  without  such  outside  help.  Into  this 
important  work  Dr.  Worcester  put  his  heart  and  his 
energy.  In  its  service  he  spent  much  time.  All  asso- 
ciated with  him  in  this  branch  of  work  greatly  regretted 
his  departure  from  the  city.  In  the  regular  work  of  the 
presbytery  he  was  noted  for  his  promptness,  regularity 
of  attendance  at  meetings,  punctuality  in  meeting  en- 
gagements for  committee  work,  fidelity,  clear  judg- 
ment, and  exceptional  ability  in  the  discharge  of  all  of 
the  duties  required  of  him  by  his  brethren.  He  was 
not  given  to  much  speaking  in  the  public  deliberations 

51 


of  presbytery,  but  when  occasion  demanded  he  was 
prompt  to  respond,  and  was  listened  to  with  the  great- 
est respect,  and  by  most  of  the  members  with  decided 
deference.  His  judicial  habit  of  mind,  his  judicious 
treatment  of  men  and  measures  ;  his  great  candor  and 
admitted  fairness  ;  his  clear  statements  and  forceful 
style  won  the  closest  attention  of  his  associates.  He 
was  regarded  as  one  of  the  ablest  debaters  and  sound- 
est thinkers  among  the  very  able  men  who  make  up 
the  presbytery  of  Chicago. 

In  1 89 1  he  was  chosen  one  of  the  Commissioners 
to  the  General  Assembly  which  met  at  Detroit,  in 
May  of  that  year.  It  was  a  meeting  of  great  and  grave 
importance  to  the  church.  Questions  affecting  the 
peace  of  the  denomination  were  to  come  before  it.  The 
relation  of  one  of  the  great  theological  seminaries  to 
the  General  Assembly  must  be  considered.  It  was  a 
time  when  clear  heads  and  dispassionate  judgment  were 
at  a  premium.  He  was  known  to  possess  both.  It 
was  a  time  for  courage  and  for  moderation  and  he  was 
an  embodiment  of  both.  It  was  every  way  fitting  that 
the  great  presbytery  of  Chicago  should  send  this  man 
of  iron  will,  calm  judgment,  clear  mind,  and  loving 
heart  to  share  in  the  responsibility  and  to  perform  his 
share  of  the  grave  duties  of  the  hour. 

The  church  had  been  disturbed  by  certain  utter- 
ances of  Dr.  Briggs  of  Union  Theological  Seminary. 
Many  thoughtful  men  had  grave  fears  regarding  the 
effect  of  these  utterances.  There  seemed  to  be  serious 
danger  of  the  church  becoming  divided  into  Briggs  and 
anti-Briggs  factions.  Revision  of  the  Standards  had 
been  a  prominent  question  in  the  presbyteries  and  must 

52 


come  before  the  General  Assembly.  So  important  a 
meeting  brought  together  leaders  in  thought  of  the 
Presbyterian  denomination.  The  gravity  of  the  situa- 
tion was  felt  by  all  thoughtful  men.  The  "  Interior 
sounded  the  note  of  warning  in  its  issue  just  preceding 
the  meeting  as  follows  : 

' '  The  contending  brethren  agree  upon  the  Scrip- 
tures as  the  only  and  infallible  rule  of  faith  and 
practice. 

They  agree  upon  the  Confession  of  Faith  as  con- 
taining the  system  of  doctrine  taught  in  the  Holy 
Scriptures. 

Both  parties  in  the  terms  of  warmest  affirmation 
declare  their  loyalty  to  the  Scriptures  as  the  supreme 
and  to  the  Confession  as  the  subordinate,  standards  of 
our  faith.  Neither  the  one  party  nor  the  other  can 
with  any  Christian  propriety  challenge  the  sincerity  of 
the  other  in  these  affirmations. 

Now  it  seems  plain  to  the  plain  and  unlearned 
Christian  that  here  is  a  platform  of  agreement  upon 
which  we  may  stand  with  sufficient  harmony,  calmly  to 
consider,  reduce  to  a  minimum,  and  adjust  within  lim- 
its of  toleration  and  forbearance,  all  existing  real  differ- 
ences. Or  failing  in  this,  that,  having  reduced  those 
differences  to  the  minimum,  we  can  calmly  and  as 
charitably  consider  whether  any  of  them  are  beyond 
the  limits  of  safe  toleration." 

Whatever  part  Dr.  Worcester  took  in  the  deliber- 
ations of  the  Assembly,  he  did  not  appear  prominently 
before  that  body  nor  the  world  until  the  discussion  came 
up  on  the  report  of  the  Committee  on  Theological  Sem- 
inaries, through  its  chairman  Dr.  Patton,  of  Princeton. 

53 


That  report  proposed  to  disapprove,  by  refusing  to 
sanction,  the  action  of  the  directors  of  Union  Seminary 
in  transferring  Dr.  Briggs  to  the  chair  of  biblical  theol- 
ogy. The  directors  held  that  as  the  original  appointment 
of  Dr.  Briggs  as  a  professor  in  Union  Seminary  had 
been  submitted  to  the  Assembly  and  had  been  approved, 
there  was  no  need  of  seeking  approval  in  a  matter  of 
transfer  from  one  chair  to  another  in  the  same  institu- 
tion. The  committee  contended  that  the  transfer 
needed  the  sanction  of  the  Assembly  as  much  as  though 
it  had  been  an  original  appointment. 

It  would  not  be  in  place  here  to  review  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Assembly.  Many  speeches  had  been 
made  on  both  sides  of  the  question  under  discussion. 
Extreme  positions  had  been  taken  on  both  sides.  Judge 
Breckinridge,  of  St.  Louis,  had  made  an  argument  the 
day  before  on  the  legal  aspects  of  the  case,  supporting 
the  report  of  the  committee.  At  the  close  of  his  speech 
Judge  Breckinridge  fell  from  an  attack  of  heart  trouble 
and  expired  before  he  could  be  removed  from  the 
church. 

It  was  under  these  sad  and  subduing  circumstances 
that  Dr.  Worcester  took  the  floor  at  the  opening  of  the 
session  on  the  following  morning.  He  had  been  im- 
portuned to  take  part  earlier,  but  he  kept  hoping  that 
some  moderate  measures  would  be  proposed  by  some 
one  else,  and  that  wiser  counsels  would  prevail.  He 
only  spoke  when  he  felt  that  he  must.  As  showing  the 
temper  and  the  spirit  of  the  man  this  speech  will  be  of 
interest.  He  first  offered  a  substitute  for  the  amend- 
ment proposed  the  day  before  by  Dr.  Logan,  and  then 
addressed  the  Assembly  on  the  question  of  adopting  his 

51 


substitute.  We  give  the  whole  as  reported  in  the 
' '  Interior  :  " 

Mr.  Moderator  :  I  desire  to  offer  a  substitute  in 
place  of  the  amendment  of  Dr.  Logan.  I  desire  also 
to  move  this  paper  as  a  substitute  for  the  entire  report 
of  the  committee: 

The  Assembly  recognizes  that  the  present  relation 
of  our  theological  seminaries  to  the  General  Assembly 
was  brought  about  through  the  voluntary  and  generous 
concession  by  Union  Seminary  of  a  portion  of  its  inde- 
pendence, in  the  interest  of  a  better  adjustment  for  all, 
and  it  recognizes  that  in  the  recent  transfer  of  Professor 
Briggs  to  the  chair  of  biblical  theology,  the  directors  of 
Union  Seminary  acted  in  perfect  good  faith,  upon  a 
possible  construction  of  their  powers  under  the  act  de- 
fining those  relations.  It  recognizes  also  that  the  pres- 
ent widespread  uneasiness  and  agitation  in  the  church 
has  grown  out  of  utterances  of  Professor  Briggs  subse- 
quent to  that  transfer.  At  the  same  time  it  regards  these 
utterances  as  certainly  ill-advised,  and  as  having  seri- 
ously disturbed  the  peace  of  the  church  and  led  to  a 
situation  full  of  difficulty  and  complication  ;  yet  the  As- 
sembly desires  to  act  in  the  spirit  of  the  largest  charity 
and  forbearance  consistent  with  fidelity  to  its  trust,  and 
of  the  most  generous  confidence  in  the  directors  of  Union 
Seminary.      Therefore, 

Resolved,  That  a  committee  be  appointed  by  this 
Assembly,  consisting  of  eight  ministers  and  seven  ruling 
elders,  for  the  following  purposes,  to-wit  : 

i.  To  confer  with  the  Directors  of  Union  Theo- 
logical Seminary  in  regard  to  the  relations  of  the  said 
Seminary  to  the  General  Assembly  and  report  thereon 

55 


to  the  next  General  Assembly. 

2.  To  request  the  directors  of  Union  Seminary  to 
reconsider  the  action  by  which  Dr.  Briggs  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  chair  of  biblical  theology. 

3.  To  advise  that  in  any  case  Professor  Briggs  be 
not  allowed  to  give  instructions  during  the  year  pre- 
vious to  the  meeting  of  the  next  Assembly. 

On  these  propositions  Dr.  Worcester  said  : 
Under  the  circumstances  under  which  we  are  met 
this  morning,  any  attempt  at  excited  rhetoric  would  be 
out  of  place,  even  if  I  were  capable  of  it.  In  the  pres- 
ence of  that  solemn  providence  by  which  our  hearts 
have  all  been  startled  and  I  trust  calmed,  the  only  kind 
of  discussion  that  seems  to  be  in  place  is  quiet,  dispas- 
sionate, matter  of  fact  reasoning  together.  I  do  not 
stand  here  as  the  advocate  of  Dr.  Briggs,  though  I  honor 
his  learning  and  respect  his  piety.  Still  less  do  I  stand 
here  as  an  opponent  of  Dr.  Briggs,  though  as  my 
brethren  of  the  Presbytery  of  Chicago  know,  he  has 
said  many  things  with  which  I  totally  disagree  and  the 
spirit  of  which  I  utterly  disapprove.  I  stand  here  as  an 
advocate  of  peace.  From  the  day  I  was  elected  a  com- 
missioner to  this  Assembly  one  word  of  Holy  Writ  has 
come  to  my  mind  as  often  as  I  have  thought  of  the 
responsibilities  which  would  confront  me  here,  —  "  Study 
those  things  which  make  for  peace  and  things  where- 
with one  may  edify  another.  "  Most  earnestly  have  I 
hoped  and  most  sincerely  have  I  prayed  that  this  As- 
sembly might  be  guided  to  a  conclusion  in  this  grave 
and  painful  affair  which  would  unite  this  Assembly, 
which  would  unify  this  agitated  church,  which  would 
allay  this  threatening  bitterness  of  strife,   and   which 

56 


would  send  this  church  forward,  a  united  phalanx,  to 
more  glorious  and  peaceful  victories  under  the  banner 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  And  I  do  not  believe  Mr. 
Moderator,  that  in  this  hope  and  in  this  prayer  I  stand 
alone.  I  believe  there  are  multitudes  of  calm  and 
thoughtful  men  on  both  sides  of  this  question,  if  you 
call  them  sides,  so  far  as  men's  sympathies  with  Dr. 
Briggs  are  concerned,  that  there  are  multitudes  of  calm 
and  thoughtful  men  in  this  Assembly  who  have  been 
looking  and  who  have  been  longing  and  have  been  pray- 
ing for  some  safe  middle  course  which  should  avoid  ex- 
tremes and  keep  the  church  in  harmony.  And  when  I 
heard,  as  I  did  on  arriving,  necessarily  a  day  late  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Assembly,  that  this  matter  had  been  in- 
trusted to  some  of  the  clearest  brains  in  this  Assembly 
or  in  the  Presbyterian  Church  for  their  report,  I  felt  re- 
assured— I  felt  that  we  should  get  just  such  a  deliverance, 
moderate,  mediative,  on  which  we  could  all  stand.  And  it 
was  with  profound  disappointment  and  sorrow  that  I  lis- 
tened to  that  report  when  it  was  presented  to  this  Assem- 
bly. Because,  Mr.  Moderator,  say  what  you  will,  the 
course  proposed  in  this  report  is  an  extreme  course.  It 
strains  the  authority  of  this  Assembly  over  Dr.  Briggs  to 
its  utmost  limit. 

Dr.  Patton  told  us  yesterday  that  this  was  the 
very  least  this  Assembly  could  do.  Mr.  Moderator, 
what  more  could  this  Assembly  do  ?  You  cannot  hang 
Dr.  Briggs,  you  cannot  imprison  him,  you  cannot  cast 
him  out  of  the  church,  you  cannot  depose  him  from 
the  ministry.  You  cannot,  in  this  Assembly,  impeach 
his  orthodoxy  or  touch  his  moral  character.  The  one 
thing  that  you  can  do  is  to  veto,  bluntly,    absolutely, 

57 


without  a  reason,  his  appointment  as  professor  of  bib- 
lical theology  in  Union  Seminary.  That  is  the  utmost 
you  can  do.  Even  upon  your  power  to  do  that,  the 
committee  themselves  admit  that  there  rests  a  shadow 
of  a  doubt,  a  shadow  sufficiently  distinct  and  percepti- 
ble to  make  them  think  it  necessary  to  appoint  fifteen 
wise  men    before  another  year,  to  clear  it  away. 

But  in  the  meantime — and  I  wonder  if  I  am  the 
only  commissioner  to  whom  the  relation  of  the  two 
resolutions  in  this  report  was  a  surprise — in  the  mean- 
time while  we  admit  that  there  may  be  some  question 
about  our  authority  to  do  this  thing,  we  will  behead 
the  man  and  then  we  will  confer  with  the  directors  of 
Union  Seminary  as  to  whether  we  had  the  right  to 
do  it. 

And  I  object  to  this  report  because  it  is  an  arbi- 
trary report,  because  it  says  simply  that  we  disapprove 
of  this  appointment,  and  gives  no  reason  for  this  dis- 
approval. Judge  Breckinridge  said  yesterday,  and  we 
all  recognized  its  force,  that  a  judge  might  often  give  a 
very  wise  decision  founded  on  very  poor  reasons,  and 
that,  therefore,  it  was  better  never  to  give  reasons  if 
you  could  help  it.  But  in  a  matter  which  touches 
the  standing  of  a  man,  in  a  matter  which  affects  the 
reputation  of  a  man,  in  a  matter  which  may  prejudice 
an  ecclesiastical  trial  already  in  progress,  you  cannot 
help  it  ;  you  have  no  right  to  help  it.  If  I  remember 
rightly,  it  is  not  a  great  many  years  since  there  was  a 
great  political  controversy  in  the  United  States  over  the 
question  whether  the  President  of  the  United  States 
had  a  right  to  behead  even  a  postmaster  without  giv- 
ing some  reason  ;  and  we  propose  to  behead   officially 

58 


a  theological  professor  without  giving  any  reason  what- 
ever. Now  we  are  told  that  a  great  many  reasons 
might  be  given.  Why  didn't  the  committee  give  a  rea- 
son ?  Mr.  Moderator,  I  fear  it  was  because  they  knew 
that  no  one  reason  that  could  be  given  would  carry  a 
majority  of  this  Assembly  with  it  ;  I  fear  that  had  some 
influence  on  the  minds  of  the  committee  ;  at  all  events 
I  believe  that  to  be  true. 

I  listened  with  the  greatest  attention  when  Dr. 
Patton  set  forth  the  reasons,  the  possible  reasons  that 
might  have  been  assigned.  He  admitted  that  it  would 
not  do  to  say  that  it  was  on  account  of  the  idiosyncra- 
cies  of  the  professor  that  we  disapprove  this  appoint- 
ment ;  he  said  that  theological  reasons,  not  amounting 
to  a  charge  of  heresy,  might  have  been  given;  but  he  ad- 
mitted with  all  his  power  of  lucid  statement,  in  which 
he  has  not  in  this  Assembly  a  peer,  those  theological 
reasons  would  be  so  intricate  and  so  obscure  that  very 
few  would  be  able  to  distinguish  them  from  a  charge 
of  heresy.  He  admitted  that  it  would  not  do  to  disap- 
prove of  Professor  Briggs  on  the  ground  that  he  is  not 
sound  in  the  faith,  because  that  would  be  anticipating 
the  Presbytery  of  New  York;  and  the  only  reason  that 
I  could  discover  that  he  would  urge  as  a  practical  rea- 
son that  might  have  been  given,  was  that  Dr.  Briggs  is 
under  suspicion.  He  is  under  suspicion,  and  Mr.  Mod- 
erator, shall  we  disapprove  of  this  appointment  because 
the  professor  is  under  suspicion,  when  we  know  that 
steps  have  already  been  initiated  to  sift  this  suspicion 
and  ascertain  whether  it  is  right  or  wrong  ?  Is  it  not 
the  part  of  an  Assembly  of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  is  it 
not  one  of  the  foundation  principles  of  the  Presbyterian 

59 


churches,  to  stand  by  a  man  who  is  under  suspicion  un- 
til the  suspicion  has  been  sifted  to  the  bottom  ? 

At  all  events,  Mr.  Moderator,  I  protest  against  the 
bare,  blunt  disapproval  of  this  election  without  any 
reason  given,  and  I  protest  against  it  because,  as  Mr. 
Ramsey  has  just  so  eloquently  said  before  you,  it  will 
inevitably,  say  what  you  may  and  do  what  you  may, 
have  an  influence  upon  the  judicial  proceedings  already 
initiated  in  the  Presbytery  of  New  York.  The  world 
will  know,  will  believe,  the  Presbytery  of  New  York 
will  believe,  that  if  this  Assembly  had  not,  down  in  its 
heart  of  hearts,  suspected  Dr.  Briggs's  serious  departure 
from  the  faith,  it  would  never  have  taken  this  action, 
and  the  only  way  in  which  you  can  prevent  this  im- 
pression being  made  on  the  mind  of  the  church  and  on 
the  mind  of  the  country  is  to  give  some  other  reason 
with  those  resolutions.  Now,  the  committee  feel  this  ; 
the  committee  see  that  it  would  be  very  desirable  to 
take  some  milder  course  if  it  were  possible.  They  have 
said  so  in  their  report.  Dr.  Patton  said  the  same  thing 
in  his  address,  and  Judge  Breckinridge  said  the  same 
thing  in  tender  words  of  deep  feeling,  in  that  dying 
speech  that  he  made  to  us  yesterday.  It  is  simply  a 
question  whether  any  middle  course  is  possible.  I  can- 
not believe  that  a  great  Assembly  like  this,  desiring  to 
avoid  extremes,  desiring  to  do  nothing  which  can  in 
any  way  cast  a  shadow  of  unjust  suspicion  upon  a  man 
who  is  under  trial,  desiring  to  find  some  middle  path 
out  of  this  difficulty  in  which  we  are  all  involved,  will 
sit  down  helpless  before  a  problem  like  this. 

It  must  be  possible  for  this  Assembly  to  find  some 
middle  way  out  of  this  difficulty.      I  would  have  been 

GO 


satisfied  personally,  notwithstanding  the  technical  ob- 
jections of  Dr.  Patton,  and  notwithstanding  the  legal 
argument  of  Judge  Breckinridge,  I  would  have  been 
satisfied  personally  to  vote  for  the  amendment  of  Dr. 
Logan,  and  I  would  not  have  introduced  this  substitute 
for  Dr.  Logan's  amendment  at  this  stage  if  I  had  not 
perceived  that  the  technical  difficulty  really  weighed 
upon  the  minds  of  many  judicious  men  of  this  Assem- 
bly, who  have  just  the  same  desire  for  peace  for  which 
I  stand  here.  But  I  saw  that  there  were  technical 
questions  involved  here.  I  felt  the  force  to  a  certain 
degree,  although  I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  absolutely 
conclusive,  of  Dr.  Patton's  point  that  we  must  approve 
or  disapprove  simpliciter,  that  it  is  not  possible  for  us 
to  interpose  a  qualified  veto.  Therefore,  I  propose  that 
we  reach  the  same  result  in  another  way,  about  the 
legality  of  which  there  can  be  absolutely  no  question. 
The  only  question  that  can  arise  is  about  its  safety,  and 
on  that  question  I  will  touch  in  a  moment. 

Certainly  it  is  within  the  power  of  the  Assembly,  if 
it  chooses  to  waive  its  authority  in  this  case,  not  to  ex- 
ercise, in  view  of  the  position  in  which  Dr.  Briggs 
stands  before  his  own  presbytery,  the  power  of  disap- 
proval which  under  other  circumstances  there  might  be 
no  peril  in  exercising,  and  instead  of  that  to  go  to  the 
directors  of  the  Union  Seminary  and  say  to  them,  ' '  In 
view  of  these  utterances  which  have  been  made  since 
your  action  and  since  the  inauguration,  we  ask  you  to 
reconsider  in  the  light  of  the  present  this  whole  matter 
of  your  appointment."  Now,  what  do  you  gain  by  this 
course  ?  You  avoid,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out, 
prejudicing   Dr.    Briggs  before  the  Presbytery  of  New 

61 


York  ;  and  Mr.  Moderator,  I  think  this  Assembly  ought 
to  heed  very  carefully  the  words  of  Mr.  Ramsey.  As 
he  has  pointed  out,  the  prosecutors  in  this  case  are  in  a 
trying  and  difficult  position  ;  they  stand  for  those  who 
object  to  anything  that  may  seem  to  be  novel  or  hereti- 
cal in  the  utterances  of  Dr.  Briggs  ;  they  stand  for  the 
faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints.  Shall  we  as  an  As- 
sembly, who  stand  for  that  same  faith  and  who  are 
animated  above  all  things  by  loyalty  to  the  hearts  of 
the  church  and  to  the  Word  of  God,  shall  we  do  any- 
thing to  prejudice  their  position  and  to  make  their  task 
more  difficult  ?  You  make  your  action  consistent 
with  itself  in  that  you  will  confer  with  the  directors  of 
Union  Seminary  as  to  the  relations  of  that  Seminary  to 
the  General  Assembly  before  you  act  upon  your  own 
construction  of  those  rules.  You  take  a  course  fitting  to 
conciliate  Union  Seminary  rather  than  to  alienate  it. 
Mr.  Moderator,  the  directors  of  Union  Seminary  are  loyal 
Presbyterians  ;  they  are  wise  and  calm  men,  and  they 
are  waiting  with  intense  anxiety,  as  has  been  said,  for 
the  deliverance  of  this  Assembly  on  this  subject.  Never- 
theless, as  I  know  from  personal  conference  with  two 
or  three  of  them,  they  are  not  waiting  for  such  a  de- 
liverance as  is  proposed  in  the  report  of  this  committee. 
They  feel — what  shall  I  say  ?  They  feel  pained, 
they  feel  hurt,  they  feel  aggrieved  at  the  haste  of  this 
Assembly  to  rush  to  such  an  extreme  action,  as  if  it  had 
no  confidence  in  .  their  wisdom  in  this  case.  You  con- 
ciliate the  directors  of  Union  Seminary  by  going  and 
asking  them  to  do  in  their  own  wisdom  and  in  their 
own  loyalty  to  the  church  what  you  claim  that  you 
would  have  the  right  to  do  if  you  chose  to  exercise  it ; 

62 


and  above  all,  you  give  time  for  a  calm  and  thought- 
ful consideration  of  this  case,  and  you  give  time  for  a 
great  deal  of  new  light  to  be  thrown  upon  it. 

But  what  is  the  objection  to  this  course  ?  I  was 
touched  with  the  way  in  which  Judge  Breckinridge  put 
this  matter  yesterday.  He  referred  to  this  very 
course.  He  said:  "There  are  two  courses  before  us, 
to  approve  or  disapprove.  Now, "  he  said,  ' '  It  may  be 
suggested  that  we  take  a  third  course,  to  refer  this 
matter  back  to  the  directors  of  Union  Seminary,  and," 
he  added,  ' '  I  have  wished  that  such  a  course  might  be 
taken  ;  I  have  tried  to  see  that  it  was  possible,  but  it 
does  not  seem  to  be  possible."  Why?  Because  in 
that  case  we  would  lose  our  control  here  of  this  mat- 
ter. We  lose  our  control!  Now  if  we  refer  this  mat- 
ter back  to  them,  there  are  but  three  things  that  the 
directors  of  the  Union  Seminary  can  do.  They  can 
reconsider  it  and  revoke  the  appointment  of  Professor 
Briggs.  Then  your  whole  difficulty  is  removed  and 
removed  in  a  peaceful  way.  They  can  reconsider  it 
and  re-appoint  Dr.  Briggs,  we  will  suppose  ;  then  he 
comes  to  the  next  General  Assembly  in  precisely  the 
same  condition  as  he  comes  to  this.  That  appoint- 
ment being  made  subject  to  the  approval  of  the  Assem- 
bly, will  be  subject  to  the  veto  of  the  Assembly  then, 
and  you  are  in  the  same  position  as  you  are  to-day, 
except  that  by  that  time  you  will  know  a  great  deal 
more  about  the  theological  views  of  Professor  Briggs 
than  you  know  to-day,  and  that  that  Assembly  will 
have  a  report  from  this  committee  of  fifteen  making 
clear  the  matter  of  the  relation  of  the  Union  Theologi- 
cal Seminary  to  this  Assembly.      The  only  other  thing 

63 


that  they  can  do  will  be,  in  the  face  of  this  earnest  re- 
quest of  this  Assembly  and  its  committee  of  fifteen,  to 
refuse  to  reconsider  the  case  at  all,  and  that  is  the 
only  peril  this  Assembly  exposes  itself  to  by  this 
action. 

Mr.  Moderator,  is  it  possible  that  there  are  ten 
men  in  this  Assembly  who  are  frightened  by  any  such 
specter  as  that  ?  Is  it  possible  that  this  Assembly  be- 
lieves for  a  moment  that  men  like  Dr.  Dickey  and  Dr. 
Erskine  White  and  Dr.  John  Hall  and  these  other 
men  whose  names  were  read  over  to  you  by  Dr. 
Dickey,  that  these  men,  when  the  Assembly  says  to 
them,  "We  request  you  tore-open  this  matter,  we 
request  you  in  the  interests  of  peace,  and  in  the  inter- 
ests of  our  church,  to  look  again  at  the  subsequent 
utterances  of  Dr.  Briggs,"  that  they  will  snap  their 
fingers  in  the  face  of  this  Assembly  and  say  :  ' '  Gentle- 
men, you  have  lost  your  control,  and  we  will  do  as  we 
please."  If  that  is  the  feeling  we  have  in  regard  to 
Union  Seminary,  the  sooner  it  is  cut  loose  from  the 
church  the  better.  If  we  have  not  faith  in  the  integ- 
rity and  in  the  honor,  and  in  the  character  and  wisdom 
of  the  Presbyterian  ministers  and  elders  who  compose 
the  directory  of  Union  Seminary,  then  we  had  better 
say  :  ' '  We  want  nothing  more  to  do  with  Union  Semi- 
nary, and  the  sooner  it  is  cut  loose  and  turned  adrift 
the  better  for  the  church."  But,  sir,  we  have  not  only 
the  integrity  and  honor  of  these  men  as  a  pledge  in 
this  case  ;  we  have  an  action  taken  at  the  last  meeting 
of  the  board  of  directors  of  Union  Seminary  ;  an  action 
which  was  an  olive  branch  held  out  to  this  Assembly  ; 
an    action  which  was  taken   unanimously,    Dr.  Dickey 

64 


informs  me,  and  which  is  spread  upon  their  records. 
What  was  that  action  ?  We  understand  from  this  com- 
mittee that  there  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt  growing  out  of  the  way  in  which  Dr.  Briggs  was 
inducted  into  this  chair.  There  has  been  a  question  as 
to  whether  this  Assembly  had  authority  over  a  case  of 
transfer  like  this,  and  some  of  the  directors  of  Union 
Seminary  are  very  strongly  persuaded  that  the  Assem- 
bly has  no  authority  in  the  case  ;  and,  yet  by  a  unani- 
mous vote  and  without  reservation  or  qualification,  they 
agree  to  waive  that  matter  entirely,  and  to  come  before 
this  Assembly  without  raising  any  technical  question  of 
that  kind.  That  overture  of  peace  on  the  part  of  the 
directors  of  Union  Seminary,  we  submit,  this  Assembly 
can  afford  to  meet  half  way.  We  can  afford  to  go  to 
the  directors  of  Union  Seminary  and  say  to  them, 
' '  Gentlemen,  since  you  meet  us  in  this  spirit,  since 
you  offer  in  this  way  to  waive  your  views  of  your  rights 
under  the  compact  which  exists,  we  will  meet  you  in 
the  same  spirit,  we  will  waive  our  right  to  the  veto,  and 
now  you  sit  down  with  our  committee  and  together  let 
us  come  to  an  understanding  in  this  business." 

[The  stated  clerk  said  no  such  paper  as  Dr. 
Worcester  has  referred  to  has  ever  been  communicated 
to  this  Assembly.] 

Dr.  Worcester: — I  don't  know  whether  it  is  be- 
fore the  Assembly.  I  give  you  the  statement  on  the 
word  of  Dr.  Dickey  that  it  is  spread  upon  the  records 
of  Union  Seminary,  and  I  think  it  is  sufficiently  before 
the  Assembly  to  refer  to  it. 

But  Mr.  Moderator,  I  was  about  to  say  one  more 
thing.     Even  in  that  extreme  case — that  the  directors 

65 


in  their  haughtiness  and  in  their  independence,  and  in 
their  insolence,  for  it  would  be  scarcely  less  than  that 
— should  defy  this  Assembly  and  say,  ' '  No,  we  will 
not  reconsider  this  election,  though  you  ask  us  to  do 
it  ; "  still  this  case  has  not  gone  beyond  your  control, 
unless  Dr.  Briggs  can  vindicate  his  soundness  of  faith 
to  the  Presbytery  of  New  York  first,  to  the  Synod  of 
New  York  second,  to  the  General  Assembly  of  1892 
third.  If  there  is  any  real  reason  in  the  theological 
opinions  of  Dr.  Briggs,  if  there  is  anything  beyond 
those  idiosyncrasies  of  Dr.  Briggs  which  Professor  Pat- 
ton  says  are  not  a  sufficient  reason  for  such  a  measure 
as  this,  if  there  is  anything  in  the  theological  opinions 
of  Dr.  Briggs  which  in  1892  shall  seem  to  call  for  the 
interference  of  this  General  Assembly,  this  Assembly 
will  have  all  that  before  it,  and  set  before  it  in  a  regu- 
lar way  ;  it  will  have  it  before  it  under  all  the  safe- 
guards and  under  all  the  light  secured  by  a  triple 
judicial  inquiry.  And  that  will  be  your  advantage  in 
settling  this  question  in  1892.  And  so  it  comes  to 
this :  Have  we  confidence  enough  in  the  directors  of 
Union  Seminary  to  waive  our  right  of  veto  and  say  to 
them:  "Brethren,  we  ask  you  to  adjust  this  thing 
yourselves  ;  you  did  not  know  when  you  appointed 
Professor  Briggs  to  this  chair  what  his  views  were  upon 
many  of  these  things  ;  you  did  not  anticipate  such  an 
inaugural  address  and  such  subsequent  utterances  as 
have  so  disturbed  the  church.  You  see  into  what  a 
state  of  agitation  the  church  has  been  thrown  ;  now 
we  ask  you  to  relieve  the  church  from  its  perplexity, 
we  ask  you  to  do  the  thing  which  shall  be  for  the 
honor  of  God  and  foi  the  peace  of  the  church  of  Jesus 

66 


Christ."  Mr.  Moderator  and  brethren,  I  beseech  you 
to  take  heed  what  you  do  to-day  ;  I  beseech  you  to 
remember  that  it  is  easy  to  do  in  a  day  what  you  can 
never  undo  in  a  generation  ;  I  beseech  you  to  remem- 
ber that  the  Presbyterian  church  has  erred  many  times 
in  the  past,  with  all  its  wisdom  and  all  its  prayerful- 
ness,  and  it  may  err  again.  Let  us  not  repeat  here 
the  follies  of  our  fathers  ;  let  it  not  appear  that  we 
have  learned  nothing  from  the  repeated  and  bitter  les- 
sons of  the  past.  I  have  often  found  that  I  have 
erred  through  acting  too  hastily  ;  I  have  seldom  found 
that  I  have  erred  through  acting  too  deliberately.  The 
Presbyterian  church  has  never  been  wanting  in  cour- 
age and  loyalty  to  her  Master.  She  has  sometimes 
been  a  little  wanting  in  Christian  charity  and  forbear- 
ance and  brotherly  love,  and  that  has  been  the  secret 
of  the  sad  schisms  which  have  rent  her  in  the  past. 
Oh,  brethren,  it  is  a  divine  voice  which  bids  us  en- 
deavor to  keep  the  unity  of  the  spirit  in  the  bond  of 
peace.  We  have  listened  to  the  thrilling  appeals  of 
our  home  and  of  our  foreign  missionaries  during  these 
days  that  we  have  been  together.  We  have  seen  how 
God  has  thrown  wide  open  the  doors  of  the  whole 
world  for  the  introduction  of  his  truth;  His  own  great 
providence  is  calling  us  to  march  forward  to  grander 
victories  than  any  of  the  past,  in  his  name  and  for  his 
kingdom.  Let  us  take  an  action  to-day  which  shall 
deliver  us  from  strife  and  from  contention,  and  which 
shall  leave  us  hand  free  and  heart  free  to  respond  to 
this  divine  call." 

No  clearer  idea  of  the  man  could  be  put  in  words 
than  is  revealed    in   this   characteristic    speech.      It  is 

67 


Worcester  in  every  sentence.  Whether  it  is  to  be  set 
down  to  the  credit  of  the  Assembly  that  his  counsels 
were  unheeded  need  not  be  passed  upon  here..  The 
press  of  the  country,  almost  without  exception,  pro- 
nounced it  the  greatest  speech  of  the  Assembly  It  is 
no  wonder  that  it  was  heartily  cheered,  and  that  at  its 
close  a  general  call  for  the  "question"  was  made  from 
all  parts  of  the  house.  The  manifest  fairness  and  can- 
dor of  the  man  ;  his  clear  comprehension  of  the  sub- 
ject under  consideration  ;  his  masterful  power  of 
analysis  ;  his  great  love  for  the  Presbyterian  church, 
and  his  desire  to  find  an  honorable  way  of  settling  dif- 
ficulty and  avoiding  rupture  in  the  denomination  were 
evident  to  all  who  heard  him  and  appreciated  by  all 
who  had  not  already  fully  made  up  their  minds  to  fol- 
low another  course.  It  was  believed  by  many  that 
had  a  vote  been  taken  at  the  close  of  Dr.  Worcester's 
address  his  substitute  would  have  carried.  It  will  be 
clearly  seen  in  this  speech  how  earnestly  he  sought  to 
find  an  honorable  middle  ground  where  the  contending 
parties  might  meet  and  on  which  they  could  stand  with 
safety  and  honor.  He  had  great  faith  in  time  as  a 
factor  in  solving  difficulties.  While  he  would  not, 
could  not  accept  many  of  the  utterances  of  Dr.  Briggs, 
and  deplored  the  seeming  belligerent  tone  in  which  he 
expressed  them,  he  could  not,  and  would  not  be  a 
party  to  any  action  by  the  Assembly  which  must  prove 
in  the  nature  of  a  decision  prejudicial  to  his  case  which 
was  soon  to  be  the  subject  of  judicial  inquiry. 

This  speech  at  once  gave  him  a  prominence  which 
hitherto  he  had  not  enjoyed.  It  is  true  that  his  speech 
proved  him  to  be  a  great  man  both  in   mental  power 

68 


and  in  moral  purpose.  But  his  speech  was  no  surprise 
to  those  who  knew  him  best.  They  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  his  clear  statements  ;  had  become  familiar 
with  his  generosity  in  stating  the  question  under  con- 
sideration from  the  side  of  those  he  was  compelled  to 
oppose  ;  were  prepared  to  expect  from  him  moderation 
and  pleading  for  charity  and  fairness. 

The  Theological  Seminary  of  Hartford,  Conn., 
elected  him  to  the  chair  of  systematic  theology  for  that 
institution  in  May,  1891.  After  mature  deliberation  he 
declined  and  decided  to  remain  with  his  church  in  Chi- 
cago. But  this  decision  was  soon  disturbed  by  his 
election,  in  July,  to  the  same  position  in  Union  Semi- 
nary, N.  Y.  The  decision  reached  in  regard  to  Hart- 
ford Seminary  would  have  enabled  him  to  reach  a 
prompt  decision  in  regard  to  Union  Seminary  had  the 
conditions  been  alike  or  nearly  so.  But  the  difference 
was  great.  Hartford  Seminary  is  under  the  control  of 
the  Congregational  denomination  and  Dr.  Worcester 
was  a  Presbyterian.  He  was  under  no  special  obliga- 
tion to  leave  his  church  and  abandon  preaching,  for 
teaching,  at  the  call  of  an  institution  under  control  of 
another  denomination.  With  Union  Seminary  it  was 
entirely  different.  That  is  Presbyterian.  He  had 
been  trained  for  the  ministry  there.  Its  relation  to  the 
General  Assembly  was  seriously  strained.  The  peace 
of  the  Presbyterian  Church  had  been  threatened.  The 
position  which  many  of  the  great  men  of  the  church 
had  taken  as  to  the  right  of  the  trustees  of  Union  Sem- 
inary, without  submitting  their  action  for  the  approval 
of  the  Assembly',  to  transfer  Dr.  Briggs  from  one  chair 
to  another,  in  the  late   meeting  in   Detroit,   and   else- 

69 


where,  prevented  their  being  considered  for  the  vacant 
professorship  caused  by  the  death  of  Dr.  Van  Dyke. 
The  position  taken  by  Dr.  Worcester  was  acceptable  to 
the  directors  of  the  Seminary.  It  was  no  less  satisfac- 
tory to  the  most  thoughtful  men  of  the  denomination 
everywhere.  It  was  known  that  he  was  thoroughly 
loyal  to  the  Assembly.  Of  his  theological  soundness  no 
shadow  of  doubt  existed.  He  was  therefore  acceptable 
to  the  Seminary  and  to  the  Assembly  as  well. 

Leading  men  of  the  church,  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  urged  his  acceptance  in  the  interest  of  peace. 
Coming  to  him  in  this  way  his  election  presented  a 
question  of  duty.  This,  and  this  alone  opened  up  anew 
the  question  of  his  leaving  his  pastoral  charge  and  en- 
tering upon  the  work  of  teaching. 

At  one  time  he  earnestly  hoped  that  he  might 
find  that  God  did  not  call  him  to  the  ministry, — had 
seriously  thought  of  teaching  as  a  profession.  But  long 
ere  this  all  doubt  about  his  proper  sphere  of  work  had 
been  cleared  away.  He  was,  and  for  long  time  had 
been,  entirely  satisfied  that  preaching  was  his  mission 
and  he  felt  highly  honored  that  it  was  so.  Teaching 
in  a  theological  seminary  he  had  never  sought — never 
desired.  It  was  a  great  struggle  between  choice  and 
duty  which  he  was  called  on  to  pass  through.  Well 
satisfied  as  he  had  been  that  he  was  where  God  would 
have  him  when  he  was  preaching,  if  it  could  be  made  clear 
to  him  that  it  was  duty  to  leave  the  pulpit  for  the  pro- 
fessor's chair,  he  would  do  that.  The  voice  of  duty  is 
the  voice  of  God.  That  voice  he  had  obeyed  when  he 
entered  the  ministry,  although  then*  he  would  have 
welcomed  a  different  work.     That  voice  he  would  still 

70 


follow  when  it  called  upon  him  to  lay  down  the  work  to 
which  it  had  once  summoned  him  and  still  obedient, 
take  up  another. 

As  a  child  he  had  suffered  from  palpitation  of  the 
heart,  so  that  his  parents  did  not  dare  allow  him  to 
play  as  other  boys  did.  But  as  he  grew  older  and 
stronger  it  was  supposed  he  had  entirely  outgrown  the 
trouble.  One  year,  shortly  after  he  came  to  Chicago, 
he  had  a  slight  return  of  it,  but  only  for  a  short  time, 
and  as  late  as  1889,  when  he  was  examined  for  life-in- 
surance, his  heart  was  pronounced  perfectly  sound. 

Early  in  the  summer  of  1891  his  old  difficulty  re- 
turned in  connection  with  the  Detroit  Assembly.  The 
necessity  of  deciding  upon  the  two  calls  which  have 
been  mentioned,  aggravated  the  difficulty.  The  doctor 
considered  it  simply  the  effect  of  nervous  excitement, 
and  it  entirely  disappeared  during  the  vacation  which 
soon  followed,  as  the  probable  effect  of  rest  and  sea- 
bathing. It  has  already  been  stated  that  he  was  a 
man  of  highly  nervous  temperament,  although  he  was 
able,  as  a  rule,  to  conceal  from  others  its  outward 
manifestation.  On  his  return  to  Chicago  from  his  va- 
cation, the  trouble  returned,  and  in  addition  to  palpi- 
tation, he  suffered  from  oppression  in  the  region  of  the 
heart,  and  once  or  twice  with  such  sharp  pain  as  to 
make  it  necessary  for  him  to  stop  in  walking.  The 
disease  which  had  manifested  itself  in  his  childhood,  it 
will  be  seen,  had  only  slumbered.  It  was  not  dead. 
He  had  not  been  cured. 

Probably  few  will  understand  what  it  cost  this 
man  to  resign  from  the  Sixth  Church  to  accept  the 
chair  to  which  he  had  been  elected  in  Union  Seminary. 

71 


Few  knew  him  well  enough  to  measure  the  struggle 
through  which  he  passed,  but  all  who  knew  him  at  all, 
knew  that  it  was  no  ordinary  conflict.  He  had  become 
satisfied  that  duty  called  him  to  New  York.  He 
asked  his  church  in  the  following  letter  to  unite  with 
him  in  the  request  that  Presbytery  dissolve  the  pas- 
toral relation  to  enable  him  to  accept. 

"  To  the  Congregation  of  the  Sixth  Presbyterian 
Church  of  Chicago,   Dear  Brethren  and  Friends : 

When  I  declined  a  few  weeks  since  a  call  which 
would  have  taken  me  away  from  you  and  from  the 
pastoral  work  which  is  increasingly  dear  to  me  the 
longer  I  remain  in  it,  it  was  my  sincere  hope  that  I 
might  not  soon  be  disturbed  in  this  decision,  but  might 
be  left  free  to  devote  myself  with  undivided  mind  to 
the  preaching  of  Christ  and  the  work  of  the  ministry 
among  you. 

The  kind  expressions  which  came  to  me  from  so 
many  at  that  time  but  strengthened  this  desire,  and 
knit  closer  the  strong  ties  of  many  years,  and  made  it 
harder  than  ever  to  think  of  separation. 

Yet,  even  then  there  were  indications  that  this 
wish  to  be  left  undisturbed  in  my  work  was  not  to  be 
realized,  and  after  an  earnest  and  prayerful  study  of 
the  question  of  duty,  prolonged  through  several  weeks, 
I  am  now  constrained  to  ask  you  to  unite  with  me  in  a 
request  to  Presbytery  to  dissolve  the  pastoral  relation 
existing  berween  us,  that  I  may  accept  a  call  to  the 
vacant  chair  of  Systematic  Theology  in  Union  Semi- 
nary. 

If  this  comes  as  a  surprise  to  any,  it  is  only  be- 
cause the  expressed  wish  of  the  Directors  of  the  Sem- 

72 


inary  that  nothing  should  be  made  public  prematurely 
compelled  me  to  consider  the  question  mainly  in 
silence. 

How  hard  it  is  for  me  to  make  this  request  I  am 
sure  you  cannot  know.  My  heart  is  bound  to  you  by 
the  strongest  ties  of  personal  affection,  gratitude,  and 
Christian  fellowship.  The  work  of  the  gospel  in 
mighty,  growing  Chicago  calls  out  all  my  enthusiasm, 
and  to  preach  Christ  in  a  pulpit  of  my  own  is  the  thing 
I  love  best  in  life. 

Yet  as  far  as  I  can  understand  the  leadings  of 
God  's  Spirit  and  Providence,  he  is  calling  me  to  leave 
all  these,  and  undertake  a  different  service.  And  with 
whatever  shrinking  from  a  work  so  difficult  and  for 
which  I  feel  myself  so  ill  prepared,  I  must  needs  follow 
His  call. 

May  I  not  carry  with  me  the  assurance  of  your 
loving  prayers,  which  I  shall  so  greatly  need  ;  as  you 
certainly  will  have  my  most  earnest  prayers  that  God 
will  speedily  fill  my  place  among  you  with  a  man  after 
His  own  heart,  richly  endowed  for  the  great  work  which 
there  needs  to  be  done? 

With  deepest  love  and  warmest  gratitude  for  your 
constant  loyalty  and  your  abounding  kindness  to  me 
and  mine, 

Your  affectionate  pastor, 

J.   H.   Worcester,  Jr. 
Burlington,  Vt,  Aug.  3,  1891. 

To  this  request  the  church  made  a  prompt  al- 
though reluctant  affirmative  answer,  as  will  appear  in 
the  resolutions  adopted.     They  are  as  follows  : 

73 


Your  Committee  appointed  to  present  resolutions 
appropriate  to  the  resignation  of  our  pastor,  Rev.  J.  H. 
Worcester,  Jr.,  D.  D.,  respectfully  beg  leave  to  re- 
port : 

The  relation  between  pastor  and  people  is,  next  to 
that  of  the  family,  the  most  tender  and  the  most  sacred 
of  all  our  earthly  relationships.  When,  as  in  the  present 
case,  the  relation  has  been  one  of  uninterrupted  har- 
mony, growing  stronger  and  more  endearing  every 
year,  an  unmistakable  call  of  duty  can  alone  justify  its 
dissolution.  We  are  fully  convinced  that  such  a  call 
has  come  to  our  pastor,  and  we  should  prove  ourselves 
unworthy  his  most  faithful  instruction  during  all  the 
years  he  has  been  with  us,  should  we  not  reverently 
and  loyally  bow  to  its  demands.  In  consenting  to  the 
separation  of  the  tie  which  has  bound  us  together,  we 
rejoice  to  know  that  we  are  called  upon  to  make  the 
sacrifice  only  in  what  is  believed  to  be  the  interest  of 
the  whole  of  the  great  Presbyterian  Church  of  which 
our's  is  but  a  small  part. 

Dr.  Worcester  has  endeared  himself  to  us  by  his 
simplicity,  his  open  candor,  his  tenderness,  liberality, 
and  eminent  Christian  consistency.  He  has  com- 
manded our  admiration  by  his  wonderful  power  as  a 
preacher  and  teacher.  His.  loyalty,  sincerity,  zeal  and 
devotion  to  his  work  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  ever 
since  he  came  among  us,  have  been  one  continued 
pleading  for  nobler  living.      Now  therefore, 

Resolved,  That  we  consent  to  the  resignation  of 
Dr.  Worcester,  as  pastor  of  the  Sixth  Presbyterian 
Church,  only  because  we  are  fully  persuaded  that  he 
regards  it  as  his  duty  to  assume  other  labors  in  another 
field.  74 


Resolved,  That  we  bear  cheerful  testimony  to  his 
splendid  ability  as  a  preacher  ;  to  his  wonderful  power 
as  a  teacher  ;  to  his  skill  as  a  leader  in  Christian 
work  ;  to  his  Christ-like  character  in  every  relation 
he  has  sustained  while  living  among  us  ;  to  his  fidel- 
ity as  a  pastor,  tenderly  sympathizing  with  every  sor- 
rowing one,  and  ever  ready  to  ' '  rejoice  with  them  that 
do  rejoice. ' ' 

Resolved,  That  we  recognize  in  the  unity,  har- 
mony, and  strength  of  our  church  the  fruit  of  his  faith- 
ful preaching, — the  result  of  his  consecrated,  unselfish 
life.  In  him  the  poor  and  neglected  have  always  found 
a  sympathetic  friend  ;  the  needy  a  prompt  and  ready 
helper.  By  the  bedside  of  the  sick  his  words  have 
given  courage,  or  have  taught  resignation.  In  the 
house  of  mourning  his  counsels  have  ever  been  balm  to 
the  wounded  heart,  while  faithfully  pointing  out  the 
source  of  the  only  comfort  that  sorrowing  hearts  can 
know. 

Resolved,  That  the  multiplied  activities  of  our 
church  ;  the  increase  in  our  beneficences,  the  greatly 
increased  interest  in  missions,  both  Home  and  Foreign, 
are  the  result  of  Dr.  Worcester's  inspiring  leadership 
and  faithful  service  as  a  minister  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Resolved,  That  we  highly  appreciate  the  efficient 
work  and  noble  Christian  character  of  Mrs.  Worcester, 
and  that  we  feel  a  personal  loss  in  her  removal  from 
among  us. 

Resolved,  That  we  congratulate  the  Presbyterian 
Church  at  large,  on  having  secured  so  able  a  man  and 
so  gifted  a  teacher,  for  such  an  important  position  in 
one  of  our  leading  Theological  Seminaries." 

75 


It  may  seem  strange  that  a  man  so  greatly  beloved 
as  he  was,  admired  for  his  gifts  of  preaching  and  loved 
for  his  sterling  Christian  manhood,  should  not  have 
been  importuned  by  his  church,  or  at  least  by  many  of 
his  personal  friends,  not  to  resign.  The  explanation 
is  not  difficult,  and  is  a  tribute  to  the  man.  Every 
member  of  the  church  knew  that  he  never  would  have 
asked  to  have  the  relation  dissolved  if  he  had  not  al- 
ready become  thoroughly  satisfied  that  it  was  his  ditty 
to  do  so,  and  that  he  believed  he  was  following  divine 
leading.  So  thoroughly  had  he  trained  his  people  in 
the  sacredness  of  duty  that  there  was  no  word 
which  any  one  who  properly  understood  him  could 
speak  without  flatly  ignoring  his  teaching  and  his  ex- 
ample. The  church  regretted  his  leaving.  The  indi- 
vidual members  regretted  parting  with  a  personal 
friend  and  beloved  pastor  and  able  minister,  but  what 
could  they  do  ? — all  were  convinced  that  remonstrance 
would  not  only  be  unavailing,  but  unacceptable  to  him. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  his  anxiety  for 
the  peace  of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  seriously 
threatened  as  he  believed,  and  the  struggle  through 
which  he  had  to  pass  to  reach  his  decision  to  resign 
his  pastorate  for  a  professor  's  chair,  had  much  to  do 
with  the  development  of  the  old  difficulty  which  had 
been  supposed  to  have  been  overcome. 

When  he  finally  left  Chicago  for  New  York  his 
heart  difficulty  increased  so  much  on  the  train  that  the 
first  thing  he  had  to  do,  on  his  arrival,  was  to  seek  a 
physician.  He  was  treated  first  for  muscular  rheuma- 
tism and  of  course  without  success.  He  was  finally 
led   to  consult  a  doctor  who  was  regarded  as  authority 

76 


in  heart  troubles,  and  for  a  time,  he  was  more  or  less 
helped.  Still  the  doctor  never  seemed  able  to  deter- 
mine just  what  was  the  matter.  From  this  time  on 
there  followed  a  constant  succession  of  ups  and  downs 
in  health.  Every  indication  of  improvement  inspired 
hope  in  his  family,  and  was  hailed  with  delight  by  his 
friends. 

His  work  in  the  seminary  was  entirely  new,  and 
was  unavoidably  a  great  strain  upon  him,  for  he  could 
not  permit  himself  to  do  any  work  which  was  not  thor- 
ough and  exhaustive.  His  ardent  love  for  preaching 
led  him  to  continue  to  occupy  some  pulpit  almost  every 
Sabbath  so  long  as  he  was  able  to  do  so.  Still  he 
claimed  that  this  did  not  tire  him  especially  when  his 
sermons  were  already  prepared,  and  to  those  nearest 
to  him  it  seemed  that  it  often  did  him  good,  physically, 
to  preach,  as  he  would  seem  brighter  and  better  after. 
His  general  system  was  much  run  down  as  was  shown 
by  carbuncles  and  boils  during  the  winter  of  1891-'  2. 
Still  his  indomitable  will  would  not  yield  or  permit  those 
difficulties  to  interfere  with  any  of  his  engagements. 
He  kept  on  with  his  work  until  the  end  of  the  seminary 
year.  It  was  hoped  that  the  long  vacation  of  four 
months  would  restore  him,  but  he  gained  little  at  any 
time  during  this  vacation,  and  toward  the  close  of  it  he 
was  very  sick,  and  for  the  first  time  since  he  reached 
the  years  of  manhood  was  compelled  to  absent  himself 
from  service  when  the  seminary  year  opened.  He  was 
unable  to  take  his  place  and  begin  his  work  until  about 
two  weeks  after  the  Seminary  opened.  He  resumed 
his  regular  work  with  his  classes  Oct.   13. 

A  change  of  physicians  became  necessary,  owing 
77 


to  the  feebleness  of  the  one  he  had  hitherto  consulted 
and  his  own  inability  longer  to  go  to  his  house  for  treat- 
ment. The  new  doctor  was  at  first  quite  sanguine  and 
gave  much  encouragement.  After  a  thorough  examina- 
tion he  expressed  himself  as  decidedly  hopeful.  Other 
physicians,  friends  of  Dr.  Worcester,  saw  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  recover,  and  in  time  be  as  well  as 
he  had  ever  been.  He  entered  upon  his  work 
with  cheerful  courage  and  did  work  outside  of  his  regu- 
lar duties.  On  November  7  he  addressed  the  students 
of  the  University  of  New  York  delivering  one  of  the 
monthly  course  of  Monday  lectures.  His  topic  was 
"Not  Transferable"  (relating  to  character.)  As  he 
was  to  speak  extempore  he  felt  some  anxiety,  and  had 
a  good  deal  of  trouble  with  his  heart  at  first,  but  after 
he  got  started  all  went  on  well. 

The  next  day — November  8,  he  was  compelled  to 
stand  in  line  for  an  hour  in  order  to  cast  his  vote,  but 
he  endured  the  trial  in  order  that  he  might  discharge 
his  duty  as  an  American  citizen.  November  13,  he 
preached  his  last  sermon,  at  the  Broadway  Tabernacle — 
the  church  of  Dr.  W.  M.  Taylor.  He  had  not  preached 
before  since  August.  He  was  assisted  in  the  service  by 
Dr.  Hastings  of  the  Seminary.  His  theme  was  ' '  Bor- 
rowed Burdens,"  from  Matt.  6:34.  Although  enfee- 
bled and  suffering  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  any  one 
who  did  not  otherwise  know,  that  he  was  not  well.  As 
showing  his  great  delight  in  being  able  to  serve  God  in 
the  pulpit  his  diary  record  of  this  his  last  sermon  will 
be  of  interest.  His  diary  had  become  a  bare  record  of 
facts.  Of  this,  his  last  public  church  service  he  wrote  : 
"Had  great  comfort  in  being  able  to  deliver  this  one 

78 


more  message,  and  was  greatly  encouraged  to  find  that 
no  reaction  followed."  So  late  as  the  early  part  of 
December  his  physician  was  hopeful  and  told  him  that 
there  was  a  fair  chance  of  his  being  ultimately  as  well 
as  he  had  ever  been.  Christmas  day  was  spent  quietly 
at  home  with  his  family  and  he  enjoyed  himself  playing 
games  with  his  children  as  he  always  did.  That  night 
he  slept  but  little  owing  to  the  disturbed  action  of  his 
heart.  From  this  time  on  he  often  had  difficulty  of  a 
like  nature  at  night,  It  may  safely  be  said  that  one 
main  reason  for  his  unbroken  health  during  most  of  his 
life,  as  well  as  accounting  in  large  measure  for  the  great 
amount  of  hard  work  he  could  endure,  was  that  he  had 
always  slept  well  at  night.  When  wearied  he  could 
throw  himself  down  and  sleep  for  ten  or  twenty 
minutes  at  any  time  and  awake  refreshed.  Now  though 
weak  and  weary  he  found  it  almost  impossible  to  sleep 
in  the  day  time,  and  often  difficult  to  sleep  at  night 
owing  to  the  pain  in  his  heart. 

The  last  day  of  1 892  he  read  a  paper  before  the  Chi 
Alpha,  a  gathering  of  ministers.  His  paper  was  a  review 
of  Prof.  Stearns's  "Life  of  H.  B.  Smith".  His  diary 
records  :  "It  was  more  kindly  received  than  I  ex- 
pected, but  I  had  extraordinary  difficulty  in  reading  it, — 
pain  in  my  heart  all  the  time, — a  new  experience  and 
very  embarrassing.  I  had  to  stop  once,  and  ask  a 
breathing  space."  At  the  urgent  request  of  his  pastor 
he  led  the  prayer-meeting  one  night  during  ' '  the  week 
of  prayer" — January,  1893.  He  spoke  on  "Earnestness 
of  the  Church ' '  and  with  much  earnestness,  although 
then  suffering  much  pain.  This  was  the  last  time  he 
spoke  in  public.      It  was  a  fitting  close  to  his  public 

79 


services  that  he,  who  had  been  so  profoundly  in  earnest 
all  his  life,  should  urge  earnestness  in  the  church  as  his 
last  message  to  its  membership.  The  continuance  of 
pain  in  his  heart  and  his  inability  to  get  rest  and  sleep 
led  to  grave  doubts  in  the  mind  of  his  physician.  About 
this  time  he  told  Mrs.  Worcester,  privately,  that  though 
Dr.  Worcester  might  be  much  better  he  would  never 
be  really  well  again,  but  would  always  be  at  least,  a 
semi-invalid. 

The  brief  Christmas  vacation,  instead  of  bringing 
renewed  strength,  left  him  weaker  than  it  found  him. 
He  was  now  compelled  to  take  a  carriage  to  the  semi- 
nary, being  unable  to  walk  the  short  distance  to  the 
horse  cars. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  attend  Faculty  meetings, 
but  he  felt  that  it  was  best  for  himself  to  have  his  mind 
occupied  with  other  thoughts  than  his  own  condition, 
and  he  did  not  see  who  could  take  his  place  should  he 
drop  out.  He  was  particularly  unwilling  to  give  up  his 
work  of  instruction  as  several  of  the  faculty  were  in  poor 
health.  Several  times  the  doctor  called  intending  each 
time  to  tell  him  he  must  quit  work,  but  after  talking 
with  him,  changed  his  mind,  feeling  that  for  a  man  of 
his  temperament  it  was  better  to  keep  on  as  long  as 
possible. 

He  was  advised,  finally,  to  go  to  Lakewood  and 
his  colleagues  urged  it.  He  consented  to  go  for  a  lit- 
tle rest,  but  several  things  had  to  be  attended  to  first 
so  that  it  was  a  week  after  deciding  to  go  before  he 
could  do  so.  On  January  25  a  consultation  of 
physicians  was  held,  and  the  decision  reached  that  he 
must  stop  work  at  once. 

80 


"  In  view  of  the  complications  at  the  Seminary 
and  the  number  of  others  in  the  faculty  who  are  hors 
du  combat,  it  is  very  hard  for  me  to  accept  this  ' '  is  the 
entry  in  his  diary,  and  the  last  he  ever  wrote  in  it. 

The  doctors  said  he  must  stop  for  the  present, 
but  he  confidently  hoped  that  after  two  or  three  weeks 
at  Lakewood  he  would  be  able  to  resume  teaching  and 
at  least  be  able  to  carry  the  Seniors  through.  His  work 
was  growing  in  interest  to  him  all  the  time.  The  students 
could  not  realize  how  ill  he  was,  as  his  mind  was  con- 
stantly so  active  and  alert  in  class. 

Mrs.  Worcester  says:  "We  left  New  York 
Wednesday,  February  ist.  One  of  the  students  kindly 
went  with  us  to  the  cars,  and  Mr.  Worcester  was  much 
pleased  to  hear  him  tell  how  much  sympathy  the  stu- 
dents felt  for  him,  and  how  they  appreciated  his  hero- 
ism in  keeping  up  against  such  odds.  Speaking  of  it 
afterwards  he  said  to  me,  '  I  am  glad  if  they  think  I 
am  practicing  what  I  preached  when  I  told  them  not 
to  whine  if  they  were  sick,'  referring  to  an  address  on 
•  'Manliness"  he  had  given  them.  The  long  ride  of  seven 
miles  over  the  rough  streets  before  reaching  our  ferry 
was  somewhat  exhausting,  and  on  reaching  the  boat 
we  had  to  give  him  stimulants,  (although  he  hated  to 
take  brandy)  and  apply  smelling  salts.  He  said  it 
was  a  new  experience  to  have  people  look  at  him  as  a 
sick  man.  After  we  were  once  in  the  cars  it  was  less 
fatiguing,  but  he  felt  much  wearied  on  reaching  Lake- 
wood. 

We  sent  for  a  doctor  that  evening  and  he  changed 
the  medicines,  and  Mr.  Worcester  slept  better,  I  think, 
than  he  had  for  several  weeks,  five  hours  without  wak- 

81 


ing  once,  and  his  head  on  but  one  pillow.  He  had 
been  taking  nitro-glycerine  to  relieve  the  pain  in  his 
heart  for  some  time,  but  now  the  effect  was  beginning 
to  pass  off  so  soon  that  often  he  could  not  get  to  sleep 
before  another  season  of  pain  would  come.  Thursday 
morning  he  felt  so  decidedly  better  that  we  both  felt 
greatly  encouraged,  thinking  that  perhaps  the  change 
of  doctors  and  of  scene  were  going  to  work  wonders. 
As  we  had  met  a  friend  the  day  before  who  reported 
that  she  had  gained  seven  pounds  there  in  two  weeks, 
Mr.  Worcester  proposed  our  weighing  ourselves  that 
morning,  that  we  might  see  how  much  we  should  gain, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  that,  though  he  had  lost 
much  flesh  he  still  weighed  164  1-2  pounds.  We 
spent  the  day  quietly,  but  pleasantly  in  the  house,  as 
it  was  rainy,  and  hoped  for  another  good  night, 
but  were  disappointed.  Medicines  seemed  to  have 
very  little  effect  upon  him,  or  the  beneficial  effect  was 
very  transient.  Friday  the  Lakewood  physician  told 
me  that  his  condition  was  very  serious,  and  that  he 
thought  he  would  never  be  a  well  man  again.  But  I 
had  no  idea  that  the  end  was  so  near.  Friday  after- 
noon we  took  a  drive  of  four  miles  about  the  lake,  and 
Mr.  Worcester  enjoyed  it,  and  did  not  get  very  tired. 
He  was  in  the  reading  room  part  of  the  evening,  and, 
for  a  little  while,  at  a  concert  in  the  music-room,  but 
the  effort  of  walking  up  stairs  caused  him  severe  pain. 
Another  bad  night  followed,  and  every  day  saw  him 
weaker,  so  that  even  in  getting  about  the  house  he 
used  a  cane.  Saturday,  though  bright,  was,  to  his 
disappointment,  too  cold  and  windy  to  make  it  prudent 
to  drive  out,  but  we  spent  the  morning  pleasantly  in  the 

82 


sunny  corridors,  among  the  plants  and  birds,  and  I 
read  aloud  to  him.  When  Dr.  Stone  came  in  to  see 
him  about  5  p.  m.  I  begged  him  to  give  him  something, 
if  possible,  that  would  cause  him  to  sleep,  as  I  felt  that 
a  few  more  such  exhausting  nights  would  break  him 
down  utterly,  and  then,  following  him  out  into  the 
hall,  I  asked  him  if  I  should  send  for  my  husband 's 
parents.  But  he  said  no,  he  saw  no  indication  what- 
ever that  it  was  necessary.  And  then  he  pressed  my 
hand,  and  bade  me  be  brave,  and  I  never  saw  him 
again. 

In  regard  to  Mr.  Worcester  's  parents  coming  to 
Lakewood,  we  had  thought  of  the  possibility  of  it,  but 
thought  it  inexpedient,  unless  absolutely  necessary,  in 
view  of  the  inclement  weather,  and  their  age  and  lack 
of  strength.  But  Mr.  Worcester  cautioned  me,  if  they 
did  come  not  to  let  them  stay  in  the  room  more  than 
three  or  four  minutes  at  first,  adding,  '  I  don  't  know 
but  even  that  would  be  too  much  for  this  poor  heart 
of  mine.'  Saturday  night  he  again  suffered  much, 
sleeping  but  a  few  moments  at  a  time.  It  was  early 
Saturday  morning,  I  think,  that  I  was  getting  something 
when  he  asked  if  I  had  just  knocked  over  a  vase,  and 
when  I  answered  no,  he  said  that  his  naps  were  so  very 
short  he  could  hardly  tell  when  he  was  awake  and  when 
he  was  asleep,  adding  that  he  always  meant  to  be 
patient,  and  that  he  thought  he  should  be,  but  if  he 
was  not  I  must  always  remember  that  it  was  delirium. 
All  through  his  illness  he  was  very  patient  and  uncom- 
plaining, though  the  marked  change  was  a  very  sad 
one,  from  such  vigorous  health  to  such  weakness. 

When  I  told  him  that  Dr.  Stone  had  given  out 
83 


through  over-work,  and  another  physician  was  coming 
to  take  his  place,  he  exclaimed,  '  How  everything 
works  against  me  ! '  He  kept  his  room  all  day  by  the 
new  doctor's  orders,  being  dressed  after  having  his 
breakfast  in  bed,  but  whether  sitting  up  or  lying  on  the 
bed,  he  said  he  could  find  no  comfortable  position, 
and  his  weakness  increased  rapidly.  He  said  he 
thought  he  had  never  felt  so  completely  exhausted  be- 
fore. Retiring  after  a  light  supper,  he  said  as  he 
wound  his  watch,  that  he  couldn't  wind  it  many  more 
times  if  he  continued  to  grow  much  weaker.  The 
doctor  came  in  four  times  during  the  day,  being  in  the 
house,  and  wishing  to  observe  closely  the  effect  of  the 
medicines  (which  were  almost  powerless,)  but  it  was 
not  till  his  nine  o'clock  visit  that  he  looked  particularly 
serious,  and  then  when  I  questioned  him  he  said  that 
he  could  not  tell,  but  that  he  thought  the  end  was  very 
near. 

"Well,  dear,  you  wont  have  much  longer  to  suf- 
fer.' '  "  The  doctor  thinks  that  I  am  going,  does  he  ?" 
"  Yes."  "  Then  let  us  send  telegrams."  "  Yes,  this 
is  death.  I  hear  the  death-rattle."  "There  is  so 
much  that  I  want  to  say,  but  so  little  breath  to  say  it.  * ' 
"Oh,  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  hard  to  die.  Death 
by  suffocation  is  hard.  Lord  help  me  to  be 
patient.      Come,  Lord  Jesus,  come  quickly. '  ' 

When  he  first  knew  he  was  going,  and  Mrs.  D. 
asked  if  she  should  stay  with  us  he  answered  with  a 
grateful  smile,  "  No,  we  will  watch  it  out  together." 
I  could  only  hold  his  hand  and  wipe  the  moisture  from 
his  forehead.  He  was  drenched  with  perspiration,  he 
coughed    a   great  deal  so  that  it  was    impossible    to 

84 


speak,  and  his  breath  came  like  groans.  But  often  he 
looked  at  me  and  smiled,  as  if  to  cheer  me.  When  I 
asked  if  he  were  ready  to  go  he  said,  ' '  Only  as  I 
trust  in  my  Redeemer."  He  sent  messages  to  the 
children  telling  them  to  trust  in  their  father's  God, 
and  adding  that  they  had  always  been  an  unspeakable 
comfort  to  him,  and  sent  tender  messages  to  his  par- 
ents. He  began  repeating  ' '  Leave  thy  fatherless 
children,' '  adding  "you  know  the  rest,"  and  for  me 
he  repeated  in  full  the  beautiful  benediction,  "The 
Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee  :  The  Lord  make  his 
face  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious  unto  thee  :  The 
Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon  thee,  and  give  thee 
peace.' ' ' 

And  so,  just  before  midnight,  Sunday,  February  5, 
1893,  this  servant  of  God  closed  his  eyes  on  all 
earthly  scenes  to  open  them  on  the  beauties 
of  his  celestial  home.  He,  who  had  so  patiently 
suffered  so  much,  passed  through  the  gates  and 
into  the  city  where  there  "shall  be  no  more 
pain  ;  for  the  former  things  are  passed  away." 

Without  murmuring,  and  without  repining  this 
heroic  soul  ended  its  conflicts  with  disease  and  with 
sin,  and  joined  the  "ten  thousand  times  ten  thous- 
and, and  thousands  of  thousands,'  '  forevermore  to 
be  numbered  among  those  ' '  which  came  out  of  great 
tribulation,  and  have  washed  their  robes,  and  made 
them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  Therefore 
they  are  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  him  day 
and  night  in  his  temple  ;  and  he  that  sitteth  on  the 
throne  shall  dwell  among  them.  They  shall  hunger  no 
more,  neither  thirst  any  more  ;  neither  shall  the  sun 

85 


light  on  them  nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb  which  is 
in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall 
lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters  ;  and  God 
shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

When  news  reached  Chicago  that  Dr.  Worcester 
was  "very  near  home,"  it  found  Presbytery  in  ses- 
sion, and  produced  a  feeling  of  deep  but  chastened 
grief.  Although  he  had  passed  away  before  the  report 
that  the  end  was  near  reached  them,  his  former  asso- 
ciates in  Presbytery  suspended  the  order  of  exercises 
and  spent  the  time  in  most  earnest  prayer.  The  loss 
was  felt  to  be  a  personal  bereavement  to  all  who  had 
known  him. 

Brief  memorial  services  were  held  at  Union  Sem- 
inary on  Tuesday,  and  the  final  funeral  exercises  were 
held  Thursday,  February  9,  1893,  at  the  home  of  his 
father  and  in  the  church  where  as  a  child,  student, 
and  young  man  he  had  worshiped. 

Rev.  Simon  J.  McPherson,  D.  D.,  and  Rev. 
James  Lewis  D.  D. ,  represented  the  Chicago  Presby- 
tery at  the  funeral  and  participated  in  the  exercises. 
The  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  of  Chicago  was  repre- 
sented by  one  of  its  members,  sent  by  vote  of  its  ses- 
sion. The  principal  address  was  delivered  by  the 
president  of  Vermont  University,  Rev.  Matthew  Henry 
Buckham,  D.  D.,    and  is  as  follows  : 

"  There  are  times — and  this  certainly  is  one  of  them 
— when  our  experience  of  life  forces  us  back  upon  the 
great  primary  verities  of  religion  ;  times  when  all  our 
little  philosophies  and  theodicies  fail  us,  and  we  are 
driven  into  that  final  stronghold  whose  solid  founda- 
tion is  in  the  wisdom  and   goodness  of    God.      In  our 

86 


days  of  calmness  and  prosperity,  looking  out  over  the 
calamities  of  men,  we  can,  as  we  think,  do  something 
to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man,  but  the  time  comes 
to  us  all  when  we  shrink  from  a  task  to  which  we  feel 
no  wisdom  is  equal  save  that  infinite  wisdom  which  is 
forever  associated  with  infinite  love.  When  the  fair 
promise  of  a  young  life  is  suddenly  broken,  when 
splendid  powers  of  intellect,  affection,  and  will,  splen- 
didly equipped  for  action  are  silenced  just  when  they 
have  reached  their  highest  point  of  efficiency,  no  mere 
earthly  vindications  or  compensations  can  bring  to  our 
minds  any  repose  or  comfort.  And  our  trouble  only 
increases  when  we  take  the  large  and  unselfish  view  of 
such  a  loss,  when  we  take  into  the  account  its  effects 
upon  the  common  welfare,  upon  the  interests  of  virtue, 
religion,  and  humanity.  When  we  see  a  young  man 
thus  fully  equipped  with  the  means  of  great  power,  go 
into  a  certain  city,  not  to  buy  and  sell  and  get  gain, 
but  to  serve  his  generation,  to  teach  and  preach  the 
truth  which  the  world  needs,  to  help  men  and  women 
to  find  the  true  life,  and  when  we  see  him  gaining  and 
using  more  and  more  of  this  beneficent  power,  and  vir- 
tue going  out  of  him  on  all  sides  round,  and  the  hearts 
of  all  good  men  full  of  cheer  and  hope  and  gratitude 
because  of  the  grace  of  God  in  him,  and  then  when  we 
see  this  power  suddenly  brought,  to  a  stand,  this  gra- 
cious gift  withdrawn,  this  beneficent  career  ended,  this, 
I  say,  brings  to  its  supreme  trial  our  faith  in  God. 
More,  almost,  than  any  other  experience  in  life,  it 
compels  us  to  ask,  ' '  Is  God  indeed  wise,  and  is  he 
good."  One  of  the  worst  possible  answers  to  this  ques- 
tion is  that  stoical  resignation  which  is  more  than  half 

87 


unbelief,  which  says,  ' '  I  will  not  think,  and  I  will  not 
feel,  because  that  way  lies  rebellion  and  despair."  It 
is  good  to  give  to  our  natural  human  feelings  their 
course  and  vent.  Even  as  the  tears  of  our  Saviour 
drew  from  those  around  him  at  the  grave  of  his  friend 
the  exclamation,  "behold  how  he  loved  him,"  so  let 
our  affection,  our  grief,  our  sense  of  love,  have  all  that 
flood  of  expression  which  nature  prompts  and  which 
religion  approves.  Let  us  tell  one  another,  as  not 
feeling  any  restraint  or  rebuke  from  religion  what  vir- 
tues he  had,  what  good  works  he  wrought,  what  love 
he  inspired,  what  example  he  left  to  his  children, 
what  inspiration  his  life  brings  to  all  who  will  read 
God's  lessons  in  and  through  him.  And  so  through 
our  natural  human  feelings  shall  be  opened  channels 
through  which  the  peace  of  God,  and  the  comforts  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  and  the  assurance  of  divine  love  flood- 
ing and  driving  out  all  doubt,  and  fears,  shall  enter  in 
and  possess  our  hearts. 

The  company  gathered  here  to-day  doubtless  con- 
sists in  large  part  of  those  who  have  known  John 
Worcester  from  his  youth  up.  And  it  is  one  source  of 
comfort  to  us  to  recall  that  life,  the  whole  of  it — for  I 
am  sure  there  is  in  our  memory  of  it  no  single  act  which 
we  would  wish  to  forget  to-day.  We  remember  his 
boyhood,  bright,  and.  pure,  and  hallowed  ;  we  remem- 
ber how  in  early  life,  through  that  process  which  is  the 
privilege  of  Christian  nurture,  almost  unconsciously  to 
himself  he  entered  into  the  Christian  life  ;  some  of  us 
remember  the  thoroughly  boyish  and  yet  thoroughly 
serious  spirit,  with  which  in  this  very  room  he  engaged 
in  biblical    study  :  how    before    the    establishment    of 

88 


Christian  Associations  and  Young  Peoples'  Societies, 
when  the  sentiment  of  youthful  society  in  Burlington 
was  not  as  strongly  Christian  as  it  now  is,  he  stood 
with  decision  and  enthusiasm,  side  by  side  with  those 
who,  not  merely  by  passive  sympathy,  but  by  active 
effort,  gave  themselves  to  the  promotion  of  virtue  and 
piety  in  our  city,  and  how  some  of  those  youthful 
activities  are  even  now  bearing  fruit  in  the  organized 
Christian  Institutions  which  are  doing  so  much  to  bring 
God's  blessing  upon  our  community. 

Of  his  college  course  you  will  permit  me  to  speak 
with  freedom  and  feeling.  College  men  understand, 
what  others  may  not,  how  largely  the  intellectual  and 
moral  tone  of  college  life  is  dependent  on  a  few  lead- 
ing men  in  the  student  body.  It  frequently  happens 
that  a  small  number  of  such  men,  or  even  one  man, 
will  impart  so  much  of  their  or  his  individuality  to  their 
class  or  their  associates,  that  the  whole  life  of  the  Col- 
lege is  affected  thereby.  John  Worcester  was  such  a 
man.  He  lifted  the  intellectual  level  of  the  whole  col- 
lege of  his  time.  Bright,  facile,  capable  in  all  depart- 
ments, susceptible  of  enthusiasm  from  great  and  inspir- 
ing thoughts  coming  from  all  good  studies,  he  set  a 
standard  of  attainment  and  of  intellectual  production 
which  the  better  minds  strove  to  reach  and  which  even 
the  less  gifted  were  ashamed  to  fall  far  below.  I  feel 
sure  that  every  student  of  his  time  will  bear  me  witness 
that  Worcester's  brilliant  career  was  then  and  still  is 
regarded  as  one  of  the  not  few  careers  of  which  the 
Institution  has  reason  to  be  proud,  a  success  which, 
not  depending  on  mere  facility  in  acquisition  and  repi- 
tition,  but   based  on   solid  attainments  and  revealing 

89 


reserved  power,  gave  promise  of  an  equally  brilliant 
career  in  after  life. 

It  was  the  natural  outcome  of  such  a  scholarly 
ambition  and  such  a  College  reputation  that  after  com- 
pleting his  theological  studies  and  spending  some  time 
in  study  and  travel  abroad,  he  was  invited  to  an  in- 
structorship  in  the  University,  and  after  proving  his 
ability  to  succeed  as  a  teacher  that  he  was  called  to  a 
permanent  place  in  the  Faculty.  But  feeling  that  a 
dispensation  of  the  Gospel  was  committed  to  him,  he 
declined  the  invitation  and  entered  the  ministry  in 
which  service  he  continued  without  interruption  for 
twenty  years  and  until  called  to  the  chair  of  theology 
a  little  more  than  a  year  ago. 

Of  his  work  in  his  two  pastorates,  first  for  eleven 
years  in  Orange,  New  Jersey,  and  afterward  for  nine 
years  in  Chicago,  others  will  more  fittingly  speak.  In 
these  fields  the  main  work  of  his  life  was  done,  and  any 
adequate  tribute  to  his  memory  should  be  mainly  taken 
up  with  this  period  of  his  life.  That  in  the  pastoral 
office  he  steadily  gained  repute  and  influence,  that  his 
pulpit  ministrations  attracted  large  audiences,  that  the 
churches  which  he  served  and  led  became  potent  agen- 
cies for  good  in  their  communities,  this  we  know. 
What  we  cannot  know,  what  never  can  be  estimated 
by  human  standards  of  success,  is  the  sum  of  his 
spiritual  influence  ;  the  truth  first  vitalized  in  his  own 
heart  and  life  and  then  scattered  broadcast  to  germi- 
nate and  fructify  in  other  lives  ;  the  souls  he  helped 
upward  in  faith  and  holiness  ;  the  hopes,  and  inspira- 
tions, and  comforts  of  religion  made  real  in  human 
hearts  and  homes  and  societies.    Doubtless  some  small 

90 


number  of  these  fruits  of  his  ministry  will  come  to  light 
through  personal  letters  and  tributes  of  affection  from 
grateful  and  sorrowing  hearts,  but  the  largest  and  best 
parts  of  them  will  never  be  known  to  men  until  the 
time  comes  when  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  revealed, 
and  when  redeemed  souls  are  permitted  to  acknowl- 
edge their  eternal  debt  of  gratitude  to  those  who  led 
them  into  the  way  of  everlasting  life. 

It    sometimes  happens  in  the   career  of   a    man 
whose  life  is  not  passed  on  the  great  stage  of  the  world, 
that  in  connection  with  some  great  critical  event  the 
whole  life  of  the  man  flowers  out  into  some  character- 
istic   which  gives  him    henceforward    the  large   place 
in  men's  esteem  which  he  had  long  merited.     This  was 
eminently  true  of  Mr.  Worcester's  action  in  the  General 
Assembly  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  in   1891.      The 
occasion  was  one  of  those  heated  controversies  which 
show  us  how  very  far  we  still  are  from  having  attained 
to   that   calmness  of  conviction  which    the   conscious 
possession  of  the  truth  always  brings  with  it.     Partisan 
counsels   were   in   the   ascendant.      Danger  of  serious 
rupture  was  near  and  threatening.      The  time  was  ripe 
for  an  irenic  word.      The  hour  had  come  for  a  large- 
minded  and  sweet-spirited  man  to  lift  the  issue  into  the 
higher  region  of  tolerance  and  comprehensiveness.    Dr. 
Worcester  saw  the  crisis,  seized  the  opportunity,  and 
did  what  one   brave  and   clear-sighted  man  could  to 
turn  thought  and  feeling  into  wiser  and  safer  channels. 
Those  who  were  present  tell  me  that  his  speech  was  a 
great  outburst  of  Christian  magnanimity,    which  will 
long  be   memorable  in  the  history   of  the  Assembly. 
Defeated  of    its  purpose  by  parliamentary  tactics,    it 

91 


nevertheless  even  drew  to  its  author  the  regard  and  the 
hopes  of  all  in  the  denomination  whose  supreme  inter- 
est was  for  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the  Church.  It 
was  therefore  no  surprise,  when  shortly  after,  Dr. 
Worcester  was  called  to  one  of  the  most  important 
positions  in  the  Presbyterian  Church,  that  of  professor 
of  theology  in  Union  Seminary. 

What  Dr.  Worcester  would  have  accomplished  in 
this  high  and  difficult  position,  had  life  and  health  been 
spared  to  him,  we  can  only  conjecture.  The  bent  of 
his  mind  had  not  hitherto  been  in  the  direction  of  sys- 
tematic theology,  but  rather  toward  religion  on  its  vital 
and  practical  side.  Perhaps  this  would  have  given 
him  a  great  advantage  in  his  approach  to  the  study  of 
theology.  Perhaps  those  who  appointed  him  to  the 
chair  hoped  that  the  experience  of  a  twenty  years ' 
pastorate,  mingling  itself  with  the  studies  of  a  man  still 
young  and  growing,  might  beget  a  style  of  theological 
teaching  which  would  prove  eminently  helpful  to  the 
preachers  and  pastors  of  the  new  generation.  Cer- 
tainly we  who  knew  him  could  easily  believe  that  on 
the  one  hand  his  sympathy  with  those  essential  and 
vital  doctrines  of  Christianity  which  have  wrought 
themselves  into  the  noblest  and  holiest  lives,  and  on 
the  other  hand  that  spirit  of  sincerity  and  fidelity 
which  leads  one  to  value  truth  beyond  all  traditions 
and  conventionalities,  would  have  led  him  to 
strive  to  work  out  in  his  own  mind,  and  to  teach  to 
students,  a  theology  which  would  be  at  the  same  time 
dogmatic  and  evangelic,  at  once  Johannean  and 
Pauline. 

Two  great  sorrows  coming  near  each  other  cannot 

92 


but  associate  themselves  in  our  minds.      It  would  be 
flattery  unworthy  of  him   and   of   us  to  compare   our 
friend    with  the  great  Churchman  whom  all  Christen- 
dom mourns.      No  other    man  in  our  generation    had 
gifts    and  influence    at   all  comparable   with   those  of 
Phillips  Brooks.      But  as  they  have,  both  in  the  prime 
of   life,    passed  out  of  the  Christian  ministry  so  near 
each  other,    it  is  a  pleasing  consolation  to  us  to  asso- 
ciate them  in  our  minds  as  fellow  workers  in  this  great- 
est of  ministries.      Especially  pleasant  is  it  to  think  of 
each  of  them  as  being  in  his  sphere  a  representative  of  a 
Christianity,  large,  tolerant,  comprehensive,  but  none 
the  less  clinging  with  life  and  death  earnestness  to  that 
essential  Christianity  which  is  the  world's  hope.      Why 
the  Great  Head  of  the  Church  takes   to   himself  those 
who,  to  our  view,  seem  to  be  the  most  useful  and  the 
most  needed  of  all  his  earthly  servants,   is  his  secret 
with  which  we  may  not  interfere. 

God  is  wise  ;  God  is  good  ;  what  He  does  is  best. 
There  we  rest.  Beyond  this  we  cannot  go.  May  he 
help  us  to  say,   '  "thy  will  be  done." 


93 


IN     MEMORIAM. 


On  Sunday  evening,  February  12,  a  memorial 
service  was  held  in  the  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  and 
the  house  was  crowded  with  a  sorrowing  congregation. 

Mr.  Charles  J.  Merritt  spoke  feelingly  of  his 
former  pastor  as  a  man,  recalling  his  strong  personal- 
ity, his  remarkable  loyalty  to  truth,  his  sterling  hon- 
esty of  character,  and  his  strong  love  for  his  pastoral 
work. 

Mr.  John  S.  Ford,  Superintendent  of  the  Sunday 
School,  spoke  of  Dr.  Worcester  in  his  relation  to  Sun- 
day School  work,  telling  of  his  interest,  sympathy, 
helpfulness,  and  above  all  his  constant  watchfulness 
for  spiritual  results  from  the  labors  of  teachers  and 
officers  of  the  school. 

Mr.  IV.  B.  Jacobs  spoke  in  earnest  and  tender 
words  of  the  relation  of  the  departed  to  Christian 
zvork  in  general.  His  interest  in  work  for  souls  knew 
no  parish  boundary,  but  embraced  every  activity  and 
every  form  of  service  which  had  for  its  aim  the  rescue 
of  perishing  souls.  He  was  never  too  busy  to  give 
time  for  any  helpful  service.  He  rejoiced  in  good  done 
for  the  cause  of  Christ  by  whomever  done. 

Rev.  Simon  J.  McPherson,  D.  D.,  pastor  of  the 
Second  Presbyterian  Church,  spoke  of  his  departed 
friend's  work  in  Presbytery.  He  spoke  of  his  great 
ability,  his  safe,  clear  judgment,  his  candor,  rare  fidel- 

94 


ity,  promptness,  intense  earnestness,  and  exceptional 
modesty.  He  was  a  safe  leader.  He  commanded  at- 
tention by  his  wonderful  power  for  lucid  statement, 
and  cleared  the  way  for  intelligent  and  loyal  following 
by  his  marvellous  ability  to  set  complicated  questions 
in  a  light  so  clear  that  they  were  made  to  appear 
simple. 

Mr.  Alexander  Forbes  told  the  story  of  his  last 
illness  and  death. 

A  committee  appointed  by  the  Session  presented 
the  following  memorial,  which  was  unanimously 
adopted  by  the  congregation,  and  ordered  to  be  signed 
by  the  Officers  of  the  Church  and  the  Church  and  So- 
ciety, and  a  copy  sent  to  Mrs.  Worcester  : 

"  In  view  of  the  recent  death  of  our  former  be- 
loved pastor,  Rev.  J.  H.  Worcester,  Jr.,  D.  D.,  the 
Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  of  Chicago  puts  on  record  its 
appreciation  of  his  character  and  his  services  :  Dr. 
Worcester  was  preeminently  a  manly  man.  He  exem- 
plified in  his  whole  life  his  deep-seated  conviction, 
often  expressed,  that  '  Christianity  is  a  virile  religion  ; ' 
that  it  develops  those  traits  of  character, — courage,  in- 
tegrity, fidelity  to  duty,  sympathy,  and  tender  love 
that  unite  to  complete  our  idea  of  the  manly  man. 
His  exceptional  loyalty  to  conviction  relieved  him,  in 
very  large  measure,  from  the  paralyzing  effect  of  con- 
flict between  desire  and  duty.  When  duty  was  made 
clear  to  him,  discussion  ceased.  This  freedom  from 
conflict  within  himself  was  one  of  the  elements  of  his 
greatness. 

As  a  preacher  he  was,  beyond  question,  great. 
Gifted   with  a  mind  naturally    faultlessly   logical,    he 

95 


readily  comprehended  the  unity  of  his  subject,  and  the 
proper  relation  of  all  of  its  parts.  He  was  thus  enabled 
to  state  his  position  with  masterful  skill  and  with  sur- 
passing clearness.  The  foundation  for  his  argument 
was  always  laid  broad  and  deep  on  truths  easily  com- 
prehended and  indisputable.  The  discussion  he  always 
conducted  along  lines  obviously  natural  and  generously 
straight-forward.  His  premises  being  granted,  his 
conclusions  were  logical  necessities.  He  was,  at  all 
times,  and  everywhere,  a  preacher  of  the  Gospel.  His 
great,  controlling  purpose  was  to  lead  to  Christ  and 
then  build  up  Christian  character  in  those  in  whose 
hearts  a  good  work  had  been  begun.  So  clearly,  so 
faithfully,  so  successfully  did  he  point  to  the  '  Lamb  of 
God '  that  those  whom  he  reached  were  always  carried 
beyond  himself  to  the  Saviour  of  men. 

Thus  it  was  (and  it  was  to  his  greatest  credit) 
there  never  was  a  party  calling  itself  by  his  name  in 
this  church.  He  found  no  time  or  place,  in  this  pul- 
pit, for  effort  at  mere  literary  display,  polished  and  or- 
nate though  his  discourses  usually  were.  His  whole 
purpose  and  work  as  a  preacher  were  truthfully 
summed  up  in  the  text  of  his  last  sermon  as  pastor  of 
this  church  :  '  For  I  determined  not  to  know  any- 
thing among  you  save  Jesus  Christ  and  Him,  crucified.' 

In  his  pastoral  work  he  was  preserving,  faithful, 
and  tender.  He  never  wearied  waiting  on  our  slow 
creeping,  even  when  himself  could  soar,  if  only  he 
could  know  that  we  were  trying.  The  tenderness  and 
the  wealth  of  sympathy  of  his  loving  heart  only  those 
who  were  called  to  pass  through  deep  waters  of  afflic- 
tion ever  fully  knew.      The  depth  of  his  genuine  sym- 

96 


pathy  was  often  obscured  by  an  unusual  modesty  and 
self-distrust.  These  qualities,  together  with  his  un- 
swerving honesty,  led  him  habitually  to  under-state 
his  feelings.  To  those  only  who  live  in  an  atmosphere 
of  over-statement  could  he  ever  have  been  regarded  as 
other  than  tender  and  loving. 

In  the  death  of  Dr.  Worcester  this  church  pro- 
foundly feels  itself  bereaved.  We  sorrow  that  we 
shall  see  his  face  no  more.  We  are  grateful  for  the 
legacy  which  this  servant  of  the  Master  has  left  us  of 
loyalty  to  God  ;  unselfish  devotion  to  duty  ;  a  domi- 
nating purpose  to  win  men  to  Christ  ;  a  firm  belief 
that  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ,  accepted  and  em- 
braced, is  the  only  sure  antidote  for  the  benumbing 
discontents  which  so  try  us  amid  the  conflicts  of  life. 

To  the  bereaved  father  and  mother  we  tender  our 
sympathy  in  this  hour  of  their  sore  trial. 

Our  hearts  go  out  in  loving  sympathy  for  our  dear 
Mrs.  Worcester,  in  this  hour  of  her  loneliness  and  sor- 
row. We  beg  to  assure  her  that  she  will  ever  be  dear 
to  us  for  her  own  sake  and  for  her  work  among  us,  no 
less  than  for  the  tender  relation  which  she  sustained  to 
our  beloved  brother  and  former  pastor. 

To  the  children  we  can  but  say :  '  Let  your 
father's  God  be  your  God  ;  his  Redeemer  yours  ;  and 
his  triumph  shall  finally  be  yours.'  God's  Word 
abounds  with  special  promises  for  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless,  and  we  humbly  invoke  for  Mrs.  Worcester 
and  the  children  the  richest  fulfillment  of  all  upon, 
and  unto  them." 

The  memorial  service  closed  with  a  tribute  to  Dr. 
Worcester  by  the  pastor  of  the  church,   Rev.  Carlos 

<J7 


Martyn,  D.  D.  The  excellent  condition  in  which  he 
found  the  church  after  fourteen  months  without  a 
leader  spoke  in  the  strongest  terms  of  the  excellence 
of  the  work  of  his  predecessor.  The  church  was  thor- 
oughly organized  and  all  its  activities  carried  forward 
by  a  people  who  had  been  specially  well  trained  for  in- 
telligent service. 

The  Executive  Committee  of  the  Presbyterian 
Social  Union  appointed  one  of  the  members  of  the 
' '  Union ' '  to  prepare  a  brief  ' '  minute  ' '  on  the  death  of 
Dr.  Worcester  and  to  present  the  same  at  the  regular 
meeting,  February  20.      The  following  was  offered  : 

"The  Presbyterian  Social  Union  of  Chicago  has 
been  saddened  by  the  death  of  Rev.  John  Hopkins 
Worcester,  Jr.,  D.  D. — a  member  of  this  Union  from 
its  organization  until  his  removal  from  the  city.  In 
view  of  Dr.  Worcester's  position  in  this  Union  as  one 
of  its  most  valuable  members  and  wisest  counsellors, 
as  well  as  its  third  president,  we  deem  it  proper  to 
record  our  appreciation  of  him,  and  of  his  services. 

In  the  death  of  Dr.  Worcester  the  Presbyterian 
Church  has  lost  one  of  its  choicest  leaders,  the  cause 
of  Jesus  Christ  one  of  its  most  faithful  and  loyal  ser- 
vants ;  and  society,  one  of  its  purest  men. 

The  greatness  of  Dr.  Worcester  consisted,  in  part, 
in  his  surpassing  clearness  of  mind  ;  in  his  marvellous 
ability  to  analyze  a  complex  problem,  separating  it  into 
its  simple  elements  ;  in  his  wonderful  power  of  clear 
and  convincing  statement  ;  in  his  supreme  loyalty  to 
truth,  and  courageous  advocacy  thereof  under  all  cir- 
cumstances ;  in  his  genuine  humility  of  soul,  never 
seeking  honor  or  prominence  for  himself ;  in  his  sincer- 


ity  and  open  frankness  ;  in  his  loving  catholicity  of 
spirit,  and,  above  all,  in  his  thorough  consecration  of 
himself  and  all  his  rare  powers  to  the  service  of  the 
Master  he  so  nobly  served. 

As  Presbyterians  we  mourn  the  early  death  of  one 
so  amply  endowed,  so  richly  furnished  for  large  useful- 
ness, so  temperate  in  speech,  so  generously  liberal,  yet 
so  safely  conservative,' so  judicious  and  so  judicial  in 
word  and  act,  and  at  a  time,  too,  when  our  beloved 
church  so  greatly  needs  this  combination  of  rare  quali- 
ties in  its  leaders. 

As  the  best  tribute  we  can  pay  to  the  memory  of 
our  departed  brother  we  here  pledge  one  another  more 
thoroughly  to  imitate  his  example  in  all  wherein  he 
imitated  Christ  Jesus,  and  more  earnestly  to  strive  to 
emulate  those  virtues  which  endeared  him  to  all  who 
fully  knew  him,  and  which  made  him  so  conspicuous 
an  example  of  dignified  Christian  manhood. 

To  his  bereaved  wife  and  children  we  tender  our 
sincere  sympathy,  mingling  our  tears  with  theirs,  and 
praying  that  they  may  ever  have  the  assurance  that 
God's  arms  of  loving  care  are  underneath  them  to  hold 
them  up  ;  that  His  gracious  hand  will  dry  their  tears. 
We  humbly  invoke  for  them  the-  comfort  which  the 
abiding  presence  of  God's  loving  Spirit  alone  can 
give. ' ' 

After  a  few  remarks  by  the  author  of  the  minute 
on  the  character  of  Dr.  Worcester  and  the  great  loss  to 
the  church  and  to  the  world,  the  minute  was  unani- 
mously adopted  by  a  rising  vote. 

The  action  of  the  Chicago  Presbytery  of  which  Dr. 
Worcester  was  a  member  at  the  time  of  his  death   is 

99 


recorded  in  the  following,  offered  by  a  committee 
through  its  chairman,  Rev.  J.  G.  K.  McClure,  D.  D.  : 
"  It  is  with  a  high  sense  of  its  privilege  that  the  Pres- 
bytery of  Chicago  records  its  admiration  and  affection 
for  the  Rev.  John  H.  Worcester,  Jr.  D.  D.  who  passed 
to  the  presence  of  his  Lord,  Feb.  5,   1893. 

He  was  our  dearly  beloved  brother  and  friend. 
Coming  into  this  Presbytery  in  February,  1883,  to  be 
the  pastor  of  the  Sixth  Church  of  Chicago,  he  imme- 
diately became  a  leader  in  counsel  and  in  work  by 
reason  of  his  inherent  worth.  Every  interest  of  each 
and  all  of  our  churches  was  dear  to  him.  He  gave 
himself  without  reserve  to  the  consideration  and  help 
of  all  subjects  presented  to  our  attention  and  left  a 
positive  impression  of  wise,  fair  judgment  upon  every 
matter  to  which  he  applied  his  thoughts.  His  charac- 
ter was  so  strong  and  complete  that  it  is  not  easy  to 
single  out  a  special  trait  and  say,  this  was  the  man. 
And  still  his  exemplification  of  faithfulness  in  every  re- 
lation of  life,  was  most  marked.  In  the  family  circle 
a  truer  man  as  husband,  father,  and  son  never  lived. 
In  the  ties  of  friendship  he  was  loyal  with  a  loyalty 
that  loved  without  counting  cost.  As  a  preacher  of 
God's  word  he  held  to  that  word  whithersoever  that 
word  might  lead  him.  As  a  pastor  he  served  those 
committed  to  his  care  with  a  watchfulness  that  made 
their  spiritual  health  his  unceasing  effort.  As  a  pres- 
byter his  regularity,  his  punctuality,  his  readiness  for 
every  duty,  his  conscientious  attention  to  detail,  were 
recognized  by  all.  As  a  minister  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church  he  responded  to  her  needs  with  devotion  and 
was  ready  at  any  crisis  to  lift  his  voice  in  her  welfare. 

100 


As  a  seeker  after  truth  he  opened  his  life  widely  to  the 
light,  and  when  he  saw  the  light  he  obeyed  his  con- 
ceptions of  truth  unmoved  by  praise  or  criticism.  As  a 
believer  in  God  he  held  to  God  with  an  unswerving 
fealty  even  in  the  utter  dearth  of  feeling,  when  life 
seemed  without  a  glow  or  an  aspiration. 

This  faithfulness  animated  a  man  of  great  mental 
power.    He  had  an  intellect  that  could  weigh  evidence 
without  haste  and  without  prejudice  ;  that  was  cap- 
able  of    long  continued   processes    of    analysis  ;    that 
penetrated  beneath  the  surface  of  words  and  things  ; 
and  that  reasoned  with  fairness,  sureness,  and  force. 
His     ability    for    clear    statement    was    commanding. 
Whether  he  was  explaining  a  matter  of  parliamentary 
law,  or  a  case  of  casuistry,  or  an  exegetical  difficulty, 
or  a  philosophical   problem,   he   always   put   his  own 
crystalline  thought   into   terse,   strong,    crystalline  ex- 
pression.     His  mere  statement  of  a  question  and  what 
was   involved   in   it,    often  answered    the   question  to 
thoughtful  minds.    United  with  his  intellect  was  a  very 
tender  heart.      He  seemed  strong  enough  in  physique 
and  in  mental  force  to  be  self  poised.      But  no  man 
needed  sympathy  and  trust  and  affection  more  than  he, 
and  no  man  craved  them  more.    What  he  desired  from 
others  he  stood  ready  to  give  to  others.     He  loved  and 
he  wanted  to  be  loved.      His  great  heart  was  keenly 
appreciative  of  every  expression  of  personal  interest  and 
was  even  dependent  for  its  joy  upon  such  expression. 
He  died  as   a  member  of  this  Presbytery   though 
serving  the  church  of  God  as  Professor  of  Systematic 
Theology  in  Union  Theological  Seminary,  New  York. 
He  went  to  that  position  urged  thereto  by  the  earnest 

101 


solicitation  of  the  members  of  this  Presbytery  who  be- 
lieved that  a  large  opportunity  awaited  him  in  it  of 
advancing  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  life  of  the 
church,  and  who  believed  that  he  was  sufficient,  under 
God,  for  that  opportunity.  He  did  not  however  sever 
his  connection  with  the  Presbytery,  for  here  were  the 
churches,  the  work,  and  the  brethren  to  whom  his 
heart  still  cleaved. 

It  is  with  very  tender  and  very  lonely  feelings  that 
we  thus  recognize  the  worth  of  this  scholarly,  conse- 
crated, genuine  man  of  God,  who  has  gone  home  to 
his  master  and  his  friend.  We  rejoice  that  he  labored 
among  us  so  long,  and  that  we  knew  him  so  well.  We 
rejoice  that  every  memory  of  him  will  always  appeal  to 
us  to  be  earnest,  to  be  brave,  to  be  devoted.  We  send 
our  affectionate  greetings  to  his  parents,  and  to  Mrs. 
Worcester  and  her  three  children  whose  welfare  will 
always  be  our  joy,  and  we  bid  the  Saviour  of  mankind 
bind  up  their  hearts  and  ours  and  help  us  all  to  make 
fresh  progress  toward  the  land  of  the  vision  of  God. ' ' 

The  minute  was  adopted  by  a  rising  vote  and  Rev. 
Herrick  Johnson,  D.  D.  led  the  Presbytery  in  prayer. 

It  is  most  fitting  that  this  part  of  the  volume 
should  close  with  the  able  address  of  Dr.  McPherson, 
at  the  Union  Theological  Seminary. 


102 


MEMORIAL    DISCOURSE 

Delivered  by  invitation  of  the  Board  of  Directors  of 
the    Union   Theological  Seminary,    April  ij,    i8pj. 


Lover  and  friend  hast  thou  put  far  from  me, 
And  mine  acquaintance  into  darkness. — Ps.  lxxxviii.  18. 

The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed. — Prov.  x.  7. 

But  .  .  .  if  we  believe  that  Jesus  died  and  rose  again, 
even  so  them  that  are  also  fallen  asleep  in  Jesus  will  God 
bring  with  Him.— 1  Thess.  iv.  14. 

We  are  a  company  of  bereaved  brethren.  We  at 
once  lament  and  celebrate  a  pastor,  a  colleague,  a 
teacher,  who  was  a  faithful  lover  and  friend  to  us  all. 
For  myself  I  can  truly  say  that  I  never  had,  and  I 
never  expect  to  have,  a  more  valued  fellow  in  the  Min- 
istry of  the  Gospel  than  he.  From  the  day  on  which 
I  was  ordained,  through  twelve  happy  years,  to  the  day 
when  he  became  a  professor  in  this  honored  institu- 
tion, it  was  my  favored  lot  in  Providence  to  serve  par- 
ishes which  immediately  adjoined  his  own.  I  became 
intimately  associated  and  acquainted  with  him.  The 
better  I  came  to  know  him,  the  more  highly  I  esti- 
mated him  as  a  rare  type  of  Christian  manhood,  and 
the  more  warmly  I  loved  him  as  a  great-hearted  com- 
panion. I  felt  the  loss  seriously  when  he  left  my  side. 
Now,  when  communications  with  him  are  altogether 
interrupted,  I  sadly  realize  that  a  blessing,  irrecover- 
able on  earth,  has  been  taken  out  of  my  life.  Yet  in 
the  consequent  loneliness,  which  is  a  shadowy  premon- 

103 


ition  of  old  age,  it  is  consoling  to  think  of  him  as  a 
vital  attestation  of  Wisdom's  words:  "The  memory 
of  the  just  is  blessed."  Friendship  is  heir  to  the  rich 
legacy  of  his  life.  Sweeter  still  is  the  white  promise 
of  our  hopes  in  him.  As  debtor  through  him  alike  to 
the  sacred  past  and  to  the  unimaginable  future,  I  am 
thankful  for  the  opportunity  to  place  a  handful  of  lilies 
on  his  early  grave.  Do  we  not  know  that  when  the 
perpetual  Easter  dawns  he  will  greet  us  as  radiant 
"Angel"  of  the  Lord  and  Giver  of  life  ?  Meantime, 
may  our  motives  be  chastened  and  our  lives  conse- 
crated by  the  vision  of  what  he  has  already  become. 

Character  is  never  an  accident.  Bringing  forth 
after  its  kind,  it  has  so  close  a  connection  with  ancestry 
that  the  laws  of  heredity  largely  determine  it.  Influ- 
enced by  the  atmosphere  in  which  it  grows,  personal 
and  family  and  social  relations  give  tone  and  color  to 
its  developments.  Formed  by  its  peculiar  discipline, 
it  is  a  cameo  carved  and  polished  by  the  lapidary  arts 
of  education.  Still  more  is  it  a  crystalization  of  inward 
disposition,  choice,  act  and  habit.  These  familiar  and 
fundamental  facts  have  a  fresh  illustration  in  the  deriva- 
tion, life  and  character  of  that  Christian  gentleman 
whom  we  are  commemorating  this  evening. 

He  was  of  English  and  Puritan  lineage,  but  in  the 
eighth  of  the  generations  who  have  been  at  home  in 
the  New  World.  Four  of  his  seven  American  fore- 
fathers were  ministers,  and  there  is  good  reason  to 
hope  that  his  gifted  oldest  son  may  become  the  sixth 
in  that  sacred  line.  His  name,  which  under  two  or 
three  different  forms  of  orthography,  is  widely  scattered 
amongst  Anglo-Saxons,  is  said  to  have,  etymologically, 

104 


a  martial  meaning  ;  but  the  family  coat  of  arms,  we  are 
told,  "signifies  the  first  bearer  to  have  been  a  priest, 
or  some  religious  person  ;  or  else  one  that  had  done 
much  for  the  church."  The  family  itself  has  certainly 
favored  both  the  church  and  the  school. 

The  original  settler  in  New  England,  Rev.  William 
Worcester,  is  mentioned  in  the  Magnalia  of  Cotton 
Mather.  ' '  A  fugitive  from  persecution  and  tyranny ' ' 
he  came,  apparently,  from  Salisbury,  England,  in  1637 
or  1638.  He  was  at  once  appointed  pastor  at  Col- 
chester, which,  in  1840,  became  Salisbury,  the  oldest 
town  north  of  the  Merrimac  River.  Its  church  was  the 
eighteenth  in  the  Massachusetts  Colony,  of  which  he 
was  made  a  freeman  in  1639.  A  man  of  liberal  educa- 
tion he  is  described  as  ' '  learned,  wise,  meek  and 
patient,'' — attributes  distinctive  of  his  descendants. 

The  next  three  in  the  line  lived  in  Massachusetts  ; 
godly,  industrious  men,  of  stalwart  character,  devoted 
to  the  public  weal,  and  loving,  as  one  of  them  said, 
"to  see  a  man  manly.'  '  Francis,  of  the  fourth  gen- 
eration, after  being  some  ten  years  a  pastor,  became  an 
evangelist  and  did  thorough  work  in  revival  meetings, 
part  of  the  time  with  Whitefield.  Noah,  his  son,  a 
farmer  and  shoe  maker,  who  settled  at  Hollis,  New 
Hampshire,  entered  the  army  of  the  revolution  with 
two  of  his  sons,  but  lived  to  gather  around  his  table 
eighteen  children,  of  whom  five  were  ministers.  When 
he  died  he  left  seventy-eight  grandchildren. 

Throughout  these  five  generations,  we  are  credibly 
assured,  ' '  one  and  the  same  character,  essentially,  ap- 
peared from  first  to  last  ....  There  may  be 
ascribed  to  each  an  enlightened  belief  in  God  and  his 

105 


Word  ;  a  confiding  recognition  of  his  Providence  in  all 
things  ;  a  fervent  spirit  and  a  constant  habit  of  devo- 
tion ;  an  undeviating  reverence  for  the  Sabbath  and 
every  institution  of  the  Gospel  ;  an  irreproachable  ver- 
acity and  honesty  ;  an  erect  manliness  and  an  un- 
daunted courage  ;  with  an  inflexible  adherance  to  con- 
victions of  duty,  and  a  benevolent  forwardness  to  mul- 
tiply and  extend,  in  every  appropriate  and  practicable 
manner,  '  the  glory  and  virtue  '  of  the  Church  of  God. 
What  an  index  to  the  personality  of  Professor  Worces- 
ter, and,  indeed,  to  the  Pilgrim  race  of  New  England  ! 

In  the  sixth  generation,  two  members  of  the  fam- 
ily are  of  special  interest  to  us.  One  of  them,  Dr. 
Samuel  Worcester,  a  graduate  of  Dartmouth  and  a 
famous  preacher  of  the  day  at  Salem,  was  among  the 
most  active  of  the  organizers,  and  for  about  twenty 
years  the  first  Corresponding  Secretary,  of  the  Ameri- 
can Board  of  Commissioners  for  Foreign  Missions. 
The  other,  Rev.  Leonard  Worcester,  was  the  grand- 
father of  our  friend.  He  was  a  Trustee  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Vermont.  At  first  an  editor,  he  was  after- 
wards, for  nearly  half  a  century,  the  pastor  at  Peacham, 
Vermont,  where  his  memory  is  still  reverently  cher- 
ished. 

Four  of  his  sons,  as  I  make  it  out,  were  ministers. 
One  of  them,  Rev.  John  H.  Worcester,  D.  D.,  whose 
namesake  and  only  child  your  professor  was,  still  lives 
in  Burlington,  Vermont,  a  noble  and  most  venerable 
figure.  He  was  the  pastor,  first,  at  St.  Johnsbury, 
where  his  son  was  born,  and,  later,  at  Burlington.  For 
some  years  subsequently  he  was  occupied  in  teaching. 
Burdened  with  defective  hearing  at  his  great   age    he 

106 


has  passed  his  most  recent  years  largely  within  his 
spacious  and  well-filled  library,  in  refined  and  studious 
retirement.  His  patriarchal  form,  cast  in  the  heroic 
mould  which  has  been  common  in  the  family,  his  intel- 
lectual head  and  attractive  face,  his  gentle  and  digni- 
fied manner,  and  his  pathetic  and  controlled  sorrow, 
too  deep  for  tears  and  too  great  for  words,  would  win 
and  touch  any  heart,  especially  if  it  loved  his  son. 
His  is  a  gifted  and  cultivated  mind,  stored  with  select 
and  classified  knowledge,  and  trained  to  think  upon 
high  and  difficult  themes.  Withal,  its  forces  are  mar- 
shalled by  a  reverent  and  independent  judgment,  con- 
servative of  ascertained  realities  and  hospitable  to  fresh 
aspects  of  truth  from  any  quarter.  We  need  not  won- 
der at  what  Prof.  Worcester  was  when  we  remember 
that  he  was  not  only  the  son  but  also,  for  a  third  of  a 
century,  the  close  companion  of  such  a  man. 

To  this  heritage  and  family,  John  Hopkins 
Worcester,  Jr.,  was  born  April  2,  1845.  Clean,  stim- 
ulating blood  flowed  in  his  infant  veins.  When  self- 
consciousness  dawned,  he  could  look  backward  with  a 
sense  of  privilege  and  indebtedness,  and  forward  with 
a  sense  of  opportunity  and  high  obligation.  He  found 
himself  tenderly  welcomed  in  the  membership  of  a  re- 
spected, refined  and  unostentatiously  affectionate 
Christian  home.  He  had  parents  to  whom  he  could 
look  up,  and  who  led  his  youthful  vision  towards  the 
Father  in  heaven.  His  mother,  Martha  P.  Clark,  was 
the  daughter  of  Deacon  Luther  Clark,  of  St.  Johns- 
bury.  She  was  the  youngest  of  three  sisters,  and  the 
only  one  that  is  not  now  living.  One  of  her  sisters 
married  the  late  Judge  Redfield,  for  many  years  Chief 

107 


Justice  of  Vermont.  The  other  became  the  wife  of 
Rev.  Joseph  S.  Gallagher,  once  the  skillful  and  effi- 
cient Treasurer  of  this  Seminary.  All  accounts  agree 
that  Professor  Worcestor  's  mother  was  a  lovely 
woman,  with  fine  intellectual  endowments  and  a  sweet 
Christian  spirit.  She  died  when  her  son  was  three 
years  old,  entreating  him  with  her  latest  breath  to  love 
the  dear  Saviour.  As  he  was  carried  away  from  her 
grave,  he  burst  into  tears  with  the  bitter  cry  :  ' '  Now, 
I  shan  't  have  a  Mamma  any  more. ' '  But  it  was  oth- 
erwise ordered.  He  was  favored  as  few  orphans  have 
ever  been.  When  he  was  less  than  seven  years  old, 
the  present  wife  of  his  father  became  a  genuine  mother 
to  him.  Of  Scottish  extraction,  high  attainments  and 
beautiful  Christian  character,  her  training  was  invalu- 
able to  him. 

In  Burlington,  as  in  St.  Johnsbury,  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  quiet,  cultivated  New  England  town. 
The  glories  of  the  Green  Mountains  and  of  the  Adiron- 
dacks  beset  him  round.  The  picturesque  and  historic 
Lake  Champlain  lay  beneath  his  eyes.  Temptations, 
like  those  of  a  great  city,  were  nowhere  obtrusive,  and 
there  was  a  wholesome  inspiration  alike  in  the  human 
life  and  in  the  natural  scenery  environing  him.  The 
climate,  like  the  moral  standard  of  his  home,  was  hon- 
estly severe,  but  the  impulses  of  domestic,  social  and 
religious  life  were  warm,  true  and  inviting.  It  was  a 
favored,  happy  lot,  whose  good  influences  abounded  in 
him  to  his  latest  hour  on  earth. 

As  a  boy,  he  appears  to  have  been  precocious,  as 
he  certainly  was  remarkably  handsome.  He  knew  the 
alphabet   from  picture-blocks  when   he   was  only  two 

108 


years  old,  and  by  the  end  of  his  third  year  he  had,  with 
a  little  occasional  help,  taught  himself  to  read.  But 
his  native  capacity,  industry  and  modesty,  coupled  with 
wise  training,  kept  him  from  being  spoiled.  The  in- 
tellectual and  moral  atmosphere  of  his  home  were 
unusually  stimulating,  in  some  particulars,  perhaps,  too 
stimulating  for  an  entirely  symmetrical  development  of 
his  boyish  nature.  It  was  at  first  a  parsonage  and 
afterwards  a  school.  He  was  constantly  in  the  com- 
pany of  older  minds.  It  may  be  a  question  whether 
his  early  years  had  enough  either  of  playtime  or  play- 
mates for  jovial  mental  health.  At  any  rate,  there  are 
indications  that  he  attained  uncommon  maturity  in  his 
youth.  He  became  a  member  of  the  Church  in  his 
seventeenth  year.  That  step,  however,  was  by  no 
means  forced  upon  him.  It  was  the  natural  thing  for 
him  to  take  it,  for  he  never  knew  when  he  became  a 
Christian.  His  faith  blossomed  out  like  a  flower  in 
spring  time.  Its  fruits,  too,  were  prompt  to  follow. 
While  still  young,  he  was  one  of  the  original  founders 
of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  in  Burling- 
ton, and  an  effective  leader  in  Sunday  School  and  Mis- 
sion Work.  Nevertheless,  his  powers  and  his  useful 
activities  continued  to  grow  and  to  increase  their 
harmonious  adjustments  to  the  end  of  his  life. 

After  completing  his  preparatory  course  under  the 
eye  of  his  father,  he  entered  the  University  of  Ver- 
mont, from  which  he  graduated  in  1865.  His  college 
career  was  notable  both  as  a  key  to  his  character  and 
on  account  of  the  influence  which  it  exerted  upon  him. 
Still  living  at  home,  as  he  did,  he  may  have  become 
less  fully   identified    with    the  social  features  of  that 

109 


microcosmic  life  than  would  have  been  good  for  him. 
A  cotemporary  describes  him  as  rather  exclusive,  genial 
with  a  few  friends,  disposed  to  be  choice  in  his  society, 
yet  really  warm-hearted  and  helpful  towards  all. 
His  mere  acquaintances  were  disposed  to  whisper  that 
he  had  contracted  a  few  harmless  little  airs  from  the 
girls'  school  in  his  father's  house,  where  he  may  have  felt 
semi-conscious  superiority.  I  doubt  the  exactness  of 
the  inference,  but  we  can  all  understand  the  sort  of 
rallying  to  which  this  opinion  of  average  college  boys 
would  subject  him,  and  which  may  not  have  been  alto- 
gether injurious  to  him.  Then,  too,  he  was  a  fine 
scholar,  studious  in  all  departments  and  brilliant  in 
some.  Alike  more  gifted,  more  cultivated  and  more 
mature  than  most  of  his  fellows,  he  had  then,  as  ever, 
what  amounted  to  a  passion  for  accuracy.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  effective  writers  and  speakers.  Yet 
at  that  stage  he  had  not  acquired  the  simplicity  which 
marked  his  later  and  fuller  manhood.  Human  nature 
around  him  looked  up  towards  him  and  excused  itself 
by  dubbing  him  sophomoric.  There  is  a  tradition  that 
he  was  one  day  to  deliver  an  original  declamation  be- 
fore his  classmates.  Every  one  of  them  entered  the 
room  with  a  dictionary  under  his  arm.  At  the  first 
polysyllable  that  Worcester  uttered,  they  all  with  one 
consent  began  to  scurry  sarcastically  through  their  dic- 
tionaries to  find  its  definition.  But  he  scarcely  winced. 
For  him,  the  fun  merely  raised  an  issue  of  moral  cour- 
age, touched  with  indignation  and  pity.  Yet,  in  spite 
of  such  charring,  the  little  college  world  admired  him 
as  a  gifted  mind  without  conceit,  a  real  scholar  with- 
out pedantry,  an  earnest  Christian  without   cant,  and 

110 


an  apostle  of  manliness  without  effeminacy. 

It  was  one  of  the  small  colleges,  set  upon  the 
Acropolis  of  the  Athens  of  Vermont.  He  was  not  only 
well  known  to  the  unconventional  students,  but  he 
enjoyed  also  the  advantages,  peculiar  to  a  small  col- 
lege, of  intimate  association  with  ripe  professors  who 
gave  him  individual  attention.  He  improved  his  op- 
portunities and  became  truly  educated.  Indeed,  he 
has  added  distinction  to  the  institution.  The  honored 
president  tells  me  that  all  who  have  known  it  intim- 
ately for  the  last  thirty  years  would  be  sure  to  name 
him  among  the  score,  or  even  the  ten,  who  have 
had  the  most  brilliant  and  promising  collegiate  careers. 
As  attesting  her  continued  regard,  the  University  of 
Vermont  gave  him  his  doctorate  degree  in  1885. 

After  graduating,  he  taught  for  two  years  in  the 
school  of  which  his  father  was  principal.  During  this 
period,  especially  after  an  interval  of  severe  illness,  he 
laboriously  debated  with  himself,  like  many  another 
young  man,  the  question  of  what  life-work  he  should 
choose.  He  thought  of  the  law,  but  abandoned  the 
idea  as  a  dream  of  ambition.  His  choice  then  lay  be- 
tween teaching  and  preaching  ;  but  he  said  at  the  time 
that  his  conscience  suggested  the  query  whether  it  was 
any  the  less  a  contest  between  selfishness  and  devotion 
than  before,  "  the  selfishness  having  taken  the  form  of 
a  desire  of  ease,  instead  of  a  desire  for  distinction.'' 
Others  thought  that  he  ought  to  continue  teaching. 
But,  although,  after  he  had  completed  his  theological 
course,  he  acted  as  tutor,  for  three  months,  in  his 
Alma  Mater,  he  declined  its  Chair  of  Rhetoric  and 
English  Literature,  to  which  he  had  been  invited,  and 

ill 


determined  to  enter  the  Ministry.  Even  then,  how- 
ever, he  went  forward  somewhat  reluctantly,  driven  by 
a  pure  sense  of  duty,  not,  as  he  said,  that  he  recoiled 
from  its  probable  obscurity  nor  altogether  that  he 
dreaded  its  pressure,  but  from  an  utter  incapacity  to 
realize  "that  souls  would  be  won  to  God  by  anything 
that  he  could  do  or  say."  He  set  out  upon  his  career, 
trusting  explicitly  upon  the  Spirit  of  God,  satisfied 
that  whether  eagerly,  like  Paul,  or  reluctantly,  like 
Moses,  he  would  try  to  do  whatsoever  the  Master 
should  indicate.  If  more  of  us  undertook  the  minis- 
try of  reconciliation  after  his  manner,  there  would  be 
more  ministers  of  the  right  kind. 

He  entered  upon  his  theological  course  here  in 
1867.  At  the  end  of  his  Middle  Year  he  went  abroad 
and  spent  a  year  or  more  in  traveling  and  in  studying 
at  Berlin  and  Leipsic.  Returning,  he  graduated  from 
this  school  of  the  prophets  in  1871  ;  and  up  to  the  5th 
of  last  February,  on  every  day  of  his  life,  he  was  both 
an  honor  to  Union  Seminary,  and  an  exalted  type  of 
the  ministers  whom  she  has  trained  for  the  church  of 
God. 

The  chief  work  of  his  noble  life  was  done  in  the 
pastorate,  preaching  the  living  Christ  to  dying  men — 
to  my  mind  the  holiest  and  sweetest  vocation  on  earth. 
In  these  days  of  frequent  pastoral  changes,  occasioned 
in  part,  no  doubt,  by  the  exacting  and  exhausting  de- 
mands of  the  work,  but  far  more,  I  fear,  by  the  rest- 
lessness of  ministers  and  churches,  let  it  be  noted 
that  in  almost  twenty  years  he  had  but  two  charges 
and  that  he  left  neither  of  them  because  he  would  or 
because  he  must,  but  solely  in  response  to  an  impera- 

112 


tive  summons  of  conscience.  He  was  installed  pastor 
of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church  of  South  Orange,  New 
Jersey,  January  10,  1872,  and  left  it  in  January,  1883, 
to  become  pastor  of  the  Sixth  Presbyterian  Church  of 
Chicago.  His  work  as  preacher  and  pastor  was  of  a 
uniform  quality  throughout,  and  the  quality  was  uni- 
formly high.  It  was  all  done  on  his  honor  as  the  ser- 
vant of  Jesus  Christ.  None  of  it  was  slighted,  whether 
it  was  public  or  private  ;  his  study  and  his  prayer-closet 
were  as  faithfully  devoted  to  their  purposes  as  the  pul- 
pit or  the  platform.  Every  minister  is  master  of  his 
own  time.  Every  minister  is  likely  to  hear  the  effusive 
praises  of  the  friendly  flatterer,  and  to  be  left  out  of 
hearing  by  his  average  critic.  Consequently  the  be- 
setting sins  of  weak  ministers  are  laziness  and  egotism. 
But  my  brother  was  neither  lazy  nor  egotistical,  for  he 
was  not  weak  ;  he  was  faithful,  sincere  and  virile. 
For  genuine  fidelity  towards  God  and  man,  he  was 
well-nigh  matchless. 

His  preaching,  as  some  of  you  know,  was  dis- 
tinguished for  thoroughness  ;  whether  he  read  from 
manuscript,  or  spoke  extemporaneously,  as  he  could  do 
with  admirable  completeness,  clearness  and  finish,  he 
always  brought  beaten  oil  into  the  sanctuary.  His 
published  sermons  on  "  Womanhood  ' '  are  in  evidence. 
Unusually  intellectual,  yet  with  the  white  light  of  great 
emotions,  and  with  a  passion  for  saving  the  whole  of  a 
man,  he  made  large  demands  upon  his  hearers,  at  the 
same  time  that  he  gave  them  large  supplies  of  thought, 
feeling  and  purpose.  Partly  for  that  reason,  he  was 
not,  in  the  common  apprehension  of  the  word,  a  pop- 
ular preacher.      He  dwelt  in  rather  too  high   and  rare 

113 


an  atmosphere  for  that.  He  appealed  especially  to 
the  somewhat  select  class  of  thoughtful  and  educated 
minds.  Yet  he  left  indelible  lines  of  life  upon  the 
soul  of  all  regular  attendants,  even  when  they  were 
unconscious  of  the  fact.  He  was  singularly  unselfish 
in  preaching.  It  was  not  a  great  name  nor  a  conspic- 
uous place  that  he  was  seeking,  any  more  than  it  was 
a  fat  salary.  His  first  desire  seemed  to  be  to  fill  the  place 
assigned  to  him,  to  make  Jesus  Christ  conspicuous  in 
truth  and  love,  and  to  leave  permanent  gracious  im- 
pressions. 

He  was  a  "house-going"  minister,  and  he  did  not 
confine  himself  to  houses  of  any  class,  rich  or  poor, 
personally  friendly  or  personally  indifferent.  To  his 
great  personal  regret  he  could  not  easily  win  an  en- 
trance into  the  affections  of  a  stranger  or  acquaint- 
ance. He  was  too  thorough  for  that  ;  at  a  time  when 
much  of  our  pastoral  visitation  consists  largely  of  small 
talk,  he  had  no  small  talk  at  all.  He  had  to  make 
his  way  on  his  genuine  merits,  which  he  was  not  facile 
in  exploiting.  But  in  times  of  stress  and  burden, 
when  death  stood  at  the  door  or  devastated  the  home, 
he  was  most  welcome.  There  was  enough  of  him  to 
meet  a  crisis,  and  souls  in  critical  situations  had  faith 
in  him,  and  found  strength  and  peace  in  his  ministra- 
tions. I  have  often  felt  that  if  I  were  on  my  death- 
bed, I  should  prefer  his  ministry  to  any  other.  He 
would  have  told  me  the  truth  honestly,  completely, 
simply  and  affectionately. 

A  good  general  test  of  his  pastoral  efficiency  may 
be  found  in  the  condition  in  which  he  left  each  of  his 
churches.      I  fancy  that  one  of  the  surest  tests  of  any 

114 


pastor's  career  comes  to  light  after  he  goes  away.  If 
a  church  then  has  parties  who  say  I  am  of  Paul,  Apol- 
los  or  Cephas,  you  may  almost  take  it  for  granted  that 
there  was  something  radically  defective  or  selfish  in  his 
teaching.  For  some  pastors  seem  to  brand  the  Mas- 
ter 's  sheep  with  their  own  initials.  But  our  friend 
left  the  Master  's  high,  unifying  name  in  his  parishion- 
ers '  hearts.  They  thought  of  Christ  rather  than  of 
him.  They  remained  united  and  prepared  to  offer  a 
common  welcome  to  the  succeeding  under-shepherd. 

Still   further,  he  always  did  his  full  share  in  the 
consecrated  work  of  the  churches  of  the   vicinage,  as, 
for   example,    in   the  Presbytery.      Two  extremes  are 
possible  :  to   neglect   the  individual   church,  which   is 
the  pastor  's  primary   and   imperative  charge,    and   to 
neglect  the  common   cause.      He  did  neither.      Bear- 
ing his  own  burden  he   shared  the  common  burden. 
This  was  true  of  him  in  South  Orange,    where   he  did 
his    initial   pastoral   work   in    a  charming,    quiet  field. 
When  I  went  from  Princeton  Seminary  into  his  neigh- 
borhood, I  was  quickened  by   the  example  set  by  his 
own  parish,  and  I  soon  felt  his  personal  sympathy  and 
brotherly  helpfulness.    But  Chicago,  as  a  larger,  need- 
ier, more  exacting  field,  holds  his  greatest  monument. 
There  he  would  neither  stoop  to  degrading  competition 
nor  neglect  his  own  charge.      But,  at  the  same  time, 
he  became  in  many  ways  easily  the  leading  spirit  in  the 
Presbytery,  with  the  possible  exception  of  that  Nestor 
of  North-western  Presbyterianism,  the  Rev.  Dr.  R.  W. 
Patterson.      The  Presbytery  depended  largely  upon  his 
judgment,  and  followed  usually  in  his  footprints.      He 
loved  our  city  and  never  tired  of  toiling  for  its  evangeli- 

115 


zation.  He  was  always  prompt  in  keeping  appoint- 
ments, and  he  never  wasted  time  with  needless  talk  ; 
for,  influential  as  he  was  in  the  later  years,  he  would 
speak  only  under  the  compulsion  of  duty,  and  then  he 
always  spoke  to  the  point  and  from  his  real  heart  con- 
victions. His  place  is  not  yet  filled,  and  we  miss  him 
day  by  day. 

Such  a  man  needed  human  sympathy — he  got  it. 
His  brethren  learned  to  love  and  trust  him,  and  he  had 
a  sweet  and  hallowed  domestic  life.  On  Oct.  29,  1874, 
he  married  Miss  Harriet  W.  Strong,  a  daughter  of 
Edward  Strong,  M.  D. ,  of  Auburndale,  Massachusetts. 
Four  children,  two  boys  and  two  girls,  were  given  to 
them,  all  born  in  Orange  and  all  living  still  excepting 
little  Martha,  who  is  with  her  father.  Let  him  who 
can  believe  in  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy.  Our  friend 
found  almost  an  ideal  of  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth 
in  his  family.  Strenuous  a  man  as  he  was,  with  deep- 
seated  convictions,  he  was  so  tolerant  of  the  rightful 
opinions  of  others,  as  I  believe,  he  never  once,  during 
their  eighteen  years  of  married  life,  crossed  any  real  in- 
dependent judgment  of  Mrs.  Worcester's.  Nor  was  he 
ever  dictatorial,  unreasonable  or  merely  suppressive 
toward  his  children.  A  strong  man  will  be  consider- 
ate and  fair,  if  he  be  only  strong  enough.  He  was 
strong  enough,  and  he  had  sufficient  reason.  His 
children  are  worthy  of  him.  His  wife  was  like-minded 
with  himself.  With  the  same  Puritan  blood  and  New 
England  culture,  with  almost  equal  gifts  of  mind  and 
heart,  she  loved  to  be  in  his  shadow,  but,  more  than 
she  will  ever  acknowledge  or  even  know,  she  directed 
and  inspired  his  life.     He  owed  her  much  and,  through 

him,  so  do  you  and  I. 

116 


It  is  not  strange  that  such  a  man,  with  such  gifts, 
such  pastoral  experience  and  such  a  home,  should  come 
to  love  with  unspeakable  ardor  the  ministry  of  the 
Gospel.  He  often  said,  to  his  nearest  intimates,  that 
he  thought  no  other  work  in  life  comparable  to  it. 
He  left  it,  therefore,  with  as  much  reluctance  as  he 
entered  it.  When  he  was  called  in  May,  1891,  to  the 
Chair  of  Systematic  Theology  in  Hartford,  he  was  in 
actual  distress  until  he  concluded  that  it  was  his  priv- 
ilege to  decline.  He  loved  the  pastorate,  and  although 
he  had  come  from  a  Congregational  family,  he  had  an 
intelligent  and  discriminating  love  for  the  Presbyterian 
Church.  Two  months  later  came  the  call  from  you. 
He  appreciated  the  great  honor  of  it,  as  his  friends  did  ; 
but  he  shrank  from  it,  with  characteristic  diffidence, 
and  the  acceptance  of  it  required  no  small  degree  of 
personal  self-denial.  It  was  not  the  line  of  life  which 
he  had  chosen,  nor  the  department  of  theological  in- 
struction which  he  preferred.  He  consulted  his  close 
friends  and  they,  in  spite  of  their  wishes  to  keep  him 
in  the  pastorate,  advised  him  to  accept,  because  they 
regarded  him  as  an  ordained  leader  of  leaders  and  be- 
cause they  hoped  that  he,  with  his  conservative  tem- 
per, non-partisan  theological  attitude  and  independent 
yet  progressive  mind,  might  do  something  to  aid  a  be- 
loved institution,  and  to  heal  the  existing  lamentable 
breach  between  brethren  in  the  same  church.  Now, 
that  he  has  gone  home,  shall  we  not  hope  and  pray  that 
the  breach  will  be  closed  ? 

During  the  last  eighteen  months  of  his  life,  as  his 
strength  was  failing  and  his  life  was  fading  away,  some 
of  us  have  wondered  whether  his  coming  was  not   a 

117 


mistake.  But  he  did  not  feel  any  such  questioning. 
Trusting  no  human  counsel  for  the  final  decision,  he 
had  prayed  fervently  for  divine  guidance  ;  he  fully  be- 
lieved that  he  had  been  led  by  God's  spirit,  and  that 
the  transfer  was  a  part  of  the  gracious  Father's  plan 
for  him  and  for  us  all.  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  bet- 
ter than  submissive,  —  acquiescent.  Filial  hearts, 
therefore,  will  not  be  impatient  or  complaining  that 
his  work  here  ended  when  it  seemed  only  to  have 
begun.  Its  influence,  I  am  sure,  will  not  be  transient. 
I  know  his  work  among  yon  was  rapidly  growing  in  in- 
terest to  him.  You  know,  as  I  cannot,  how  gifted, 
cultured,  genuine,  devoted  and  open-hearted  it  was 
becoming.  It  would  naturally  have  special  attractions 
for  strong,  candid  and  manly  students.  Doubtless,  he 
was  in  the  main  a  disciple  of  your  epoch-making 
teacher,  Dr.  Henry  B.  Smith  ;  so  true  a  disciple  that 
he  could  be  independent  of  his  teacher  in  important 
particulars.  He  had  the  same  reverent,  discerning- 
spirit,  the  same  firm,  conservative  and  delicate  grasp 
of  generic  essentials,  the  same  undisturbed  sense  of 
liberty  as  to  all  undetermined  and  incidental  matters. 
Equally  with  that  master,  he  spent  his  strength  in 
strenuous  seeking  after  truth,  and  he  would  dare  en- 
courage his  pupils  to  think  for  themselves,  and  to  be- 
siege him  with  all  sorts  of  honest  questions.  If  he  had 
lived,  I  am  sure  he  would  have  filled  his  place  with 
ever-increasing  power  and  with  indubitable  adequacy 
and  renown. 

His  faculty  for  criticism,  analysis  and  inductive 
logic  was  large.  He  valued  conclusions  neither  be- 
cause they  were  old  nor  because  they  were  new,  but  in 

118 


proportion  as  they  seemed  to  comprehend  the  vital 
truth.  The  bent  of  his  mind  was  not  negative,  much 
less  destructive,  but  rather  positive,  constructive,  and 
at  least  in  mode  creative.  In  a  trusted  and  congenial 
company  he  had  almost  peerless  ability  to  hear  a  dif- 
ficult and  complicated  case,  and  then,  instantaneously, 
with  comprehensiveness,  exactness  and  finish  of  state- 
ment, to  point  out  its  defects  and  make  plain  its  in- 
tegral significance.  In  this  respect,  he  had  the 
endowment  of  a  great  jurist — an  endowment  far  more 
rare  and  valuable  than  that  of  the  ready  debater  who 
can  seize  upon  and  advocate  one  side  of  a  question. 

No  one  could  accurately  measure  his  intellectual 
processes  without  noting  his  predominant  moral  qual- 
ities. Remembering  both,  I  call  him  a  great  man. 
But,  lest  my  own  estimate  of  him  may  be  partial  and 
faulty,  let  me  adapt  the  words  of  another  friend.  His 
greatness  consisted  in  his  surpassing  perspicuity  of 
mind,  in  his  rare  capacity  to  separate  a  complex  prob- 
lem into  its  simple  elements,  in  his  wonderful  power  of 
thorough  and  convincing  statement,  in  his  supreme 
loyalty  to  truth  and  his  courageous  advocacy  of  it,  un- 
der all  circumstances,  in  his  genuine  humility  of  soul, 
which  enabled  him  to  see  the  truth  easily,  yet  never 
permitted  him  to  seek  prominence  for  himself,  in  his 
sincere  and  unpretentious  candor,  in  his  loving  catho- 
licity of  spirit  and  in  the  complete  consecration  of  his 
unusual  powers  and  acquirements  to  the  Light  of  the 
World. 

The  key  to  his  character,  I  believe,  will  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  moral  considerations  controlled  him. 
The  chief  defect  which  I  have  heard  ascribed  to    him 

119 


Was  an  apparent  reserve  of  manner.  His  exterior  gave  to 
the  average  person  meeting  him  the  impression  that  he 
was  cold.  A  few  acquaintances  have  thought  that  he 
was  even  haughty.  But  his  intimate  friends  knew 
that  this  view  of  his  character  was'radically  mistaken. 
His  heart  was  always  warm.  He  had  an  ample  capac- 
ity for  true  friendship.  He  depended  upon  the  love  of 
friends,  hungered  for  the  good-will  of  all,  and  suffered 
often  because  he  could  not  facilely  show  his  own  good- 
will. He  could  not  tell  you  to  your  face  that  he  loved 
you.  If  his  life  did  not  show  it,  he  was  powerless.  It 
was  one  of  his  heavy  burdens  that  he  had  to  force  his 
way  where  many  another  could  win  an  entrance  to  the 
human  heart.  He  was  utterly  unable  to  wear  his 
heart  upon  his  sleeve. 

This  was  due  in  part,  perhaps,  to  his  Puritan 
blood.  He  was  morally  strenuous  and  never  frivolous. 
His  eyes  were  so  filled  with  the  great  duties  needful  to 
to  be  done  that,  pushing  straightforward,  he  over- 
looked the  allied  little  things  which  might  be  engross- 
ing others.  He  hardly  made  enough  of  the  com- 
plaisant arts  of  tact.  It  may  also  have  been  due 
somewhat  to  the  intellectual  pressure  put  upon  his 
early  life  in  which  his  mind  and  conscience  developed 
rapidly.  Besides,  in  early  boyhood  he  was  rather  in- 
valid. Possibly  his  boyhood  was  cut  short  because  he 
did  not  romp  and  play  as  much  as  healthy  children 
who  have  brothers  and  sisters.  It  was,  too,  the  con- 
stant habit  of  his  accurate  mind  to  state  things  mod- 
erately and  carefully ;  whereas  most  of  us  are  contin- 
ually overstating  and  exaggerating.  It  must  be  added, 
that  unless  his  latest  years,  which  mellowed  him,    be 

120 


excepted,  he  was  to  some  extent  deficient  in  that  sense 
of  humor  which  oils  so  many  wheels  in  life  and  which 
enables  us  instinctively  not  to  fight  the  insignificant 
things,  but  to  pass  over  them  with  a  convenient  smile 
or  laugh.  Nevertheless,  the  great  reason  for  his  ap- 
parent reserve  is  not  to  be  sought  in  any  of  these  sec- 
ondary influences.  It  came  fundamentally  from  his 
native  modesty,  which  led  him  to  depreciation  of  him- 
self and  to  embarrassment  before  others.  This  bash- 
fulness  resisted,  so  stiffened  his  manners  that  they 
misrepresented  his  feelings.  If  self-assurance  or  con- 
ceit be  a  virtue,  we  may  admit  that  he  had  one  vice. 
For  he  was  meek  and  lowly  in  heart  ;  yet  so  that  he  dis- 
dained the  fawning  of  an  Uriah  Heep  and  was  a 
stranger  to  the  false  modesty  which  Emerson  called 
the  haughtiness  of  humility. 

As  conscientious  a  man  as  I  have  ever  known,  he 
was  hard  upon  himself,  but  gracious  and  tolerant  to- 
wards the  sincere  moral  postures  of  others.  For  this 
reason,  questions  which  belonged  to  the  pure  ethical 
realm  appeared  to  give  him  unusually  little  trouble.  He 
was  simply  above  the  reach  of  many  of  the  ordinary 
temptations  of  life.  When  he  perceived  that  a  thing 
was  right  or  obligatory,  his  doubts  about  it  were 
settled. 

If,  in  matters  of  expediency  or  questions  of  the 
reason,  he  would  sometimes  hesitate,  you  might  be  sure 
that  conscientious  scruples  were  at  the  bottom  of  his 
hesitancy,  and  that  he  could  not  as  yet  make  out  his 
moral  bearings.  The  moment  that  he  discerned  dis- 
tinctly what  he  ought  to  do,  he  became  as  bold  as  a 
lion.      It  was  a  curious  combination,  timid  as  to  his 

121 


own  personality,  even  as  to  his  judgment  ;  perfectly 
fearless  as  to  duty.  The  historic  speech  at  Detroit  is 
an  instance  in  point.  To  his  intimates,  it  has  always 
seemed  characteristic  rather  than  exceptional  in  its  in- 
tellectual power,  its  Christian  spirit,  its  moral  weight. 
For  days  he  had  been  urged  to  speak.  But  he  shrank 
from  the  conspicuous  responsibility.  Though  he  passed 
almost  sleepless  nights  over  the  matter,  he  still  refused 
to  say  a  word.  But  things  appeared  to  him  to  be  go- 
ing wrong.  Finally,  alone,  upon  his  knees,  it  became 
plain  to  him  that  the  Master  summoned  him  to  the 
task.  Then  his  lips  were  touched  with  fire,  and,  even 
if  the  whole  world  had  been  against  him,  nothing 
could  have  swerved  him,  more  than  Isaiah,  from  the 
purpose  to  utter  his  convictions  boldly,  tenderly, 
mightily,  under  the  resistless  inspiration  of  the  sense 
of  duty.  That  is  why  my  friend's  speech  will  live  and 
quicken  after  the  mere  controversies  of  that  hour  are 
the  forgotten  dust  of  logomachy. 

Contrary  to  the  opinions  of  some  acquaintances,  he 
had  an  enthusiastic  nature.  His  later  boyhood  in 
Burlington  furnishes  a  typical  illustration.  It  seems 
that  one  evening,  shortly  after  dark,  fire  broke  out  in 
a  building  down  near  the  lake  shore  under  the  little 
bluff.  The  boys  started  for  it  instantly  on  a  run.  He 
outran  the  others,  and,  in  going  over  the  side  of  the 
bluff,  he  made  a  misstep,  fell  and  broke  his  leg.  When 
the  others  overtook  him,  they  wanted  to  carry  him 
home  at  once.  But  he  said  :  "  No,  no,  leave  me  here  ; 
go  and  help  put  out  the  fire  ;  take  me  home  after- 
wards. ' ' 

Under  that  calm  manner  and  controlled  temper, 

122 


there  was  an  intensity  of  conviction,  of  purpose,  of 
feeling,  of  courage,  of  ideal  vision,  which  explains  ap- 
parent anomalies  in  his  finished  career  and  which 
promised  heroic  achievements  in  the  withheld  second  half 
of  his  life-time.  It  will  teach  us  why  he  was  constant 
and  tireless  in  every  form  of  faithfulness,  to  his  con- 
science, to  his  father,  his  wife  and  children  and  his 
friends,  to  the  churches  which  he  served,  to  the  Semi- 
nary, to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  He  was  faithful  in  the 
least  and  faithful  also  in  much,  faithful  alike  in  service 
and  in  suffering. 

What  is  all  this  but  to  say,  by  way  of  summary 
and  pre-eminence,  that  he  was  a  gifted,  manly,  true- 
hearted  Christian.  His  life  amply  exemplified  the 
title  of  one  of  my  favorites  among  his  sermons, 
"Christianity,  a  Virile  Religion."  He  exemplified  it 
also  in  the  supreme  hour.  He  died  at  Lakewood,  New 
Jersey,  alone  with  his  wife  and  his  Saviour.  When  it 
became  plain  to  the  physician  about  nine  o'clock  on 
that  Sabbath  evening  that  he  was  soon  to  enter  into 
rest,  she  went  to  him  and  said:  "Well,  dear,  you 
won't  need  to  suffer  much  longer."  "Then,"  said  he, 
"you  think  I  am  going?"  "Yes,"  she  answered, 
with  the  simple  truthfulness  of  their  life.  He  waited 
half  a  minute,  and  then  replied:  "We  should  send 
some  telegrams ' '  ;  that  is,  to  his  children  and  father 
and  nearest  friends.  Brave,  self-forgetful,  resolute  to 
the  end  !  A  kind-hearted  lady  in  the  hotel  came  to  the 
door  to  ask  them  if  she  should  not  stay  with  them  dur- 
ing that  awful  ordeal.  But  it  was  he  who,  looking  to- 
ward her  with  a  grateful  smile,  answered  :  ' '  No,  we 
will  watch  it  out  together."     Love  was  sufficient  and 

123 


triumphant.  Presently,  Mrs.  Worcester  asked  if  he 
felt  ready  to  go.  Observe  the  reply  of  that  man  of 
white  character  and  noble  life.  He  just  said  :  "  Only 
as  I  trust  in  my  Redeemer."  The  Professor,  like  a  little 
child,  had  learned  by  heart  the  central  essential  of  all 
theology.  Shall  any  of  the  rest  of  us,  ignoring  grace, 
dare  venture  into  the  divine  presence  upon  the  rights 
of  our  personal  merits  ?  Conscious  to  the  final  moment 
of  earth,  he  suffered  terribly  during  the  three  closing 
hours  from  suffocation  and  the  griping  pain  about  his 
heart.  They  prayed  together — he  for  patience,  and 
she  that  he  may  be  released  from  physical  agony.  I 
shall  never  think  of  that  man  and  that  woman,  their 
children  absent,  sitting  alone,  hand  in  hand,  before  the 
King  who  waited  with  the  crown,  not  a  tear  in  their 
eyes,  but  praying  with  unbroken  voices  to  God  their 
Father,  without  rejoicing  that  heroism  still  lingers  upon 
earth.  He  was  a  dying  hero  ;  she  was  a  living  heroine. 
No,  character  is  not  an  accident.  It  is  the  be- 
stowment  and  the  evolution  of  the  covenanting,  aton- 
ing, cleansing,  emancipating  and  inspiring  Christ. 


124 


SERMONS. 


CHRISTIANITY  A  VIRILE  RELIGION. 

For  God  hath  not  given  us  the  spirit  of  fear,  but  of  power 
and  of  love  and  of  self-control.   — II  Timothy,  i :  7. 

The  application  of  these  words  is  a  personal  one. 
They  are  intended  as  a  gentle  admonition  to  Timothy  not 
to  be  wanting  in  courage  and  firmness,  and  particularly 
not  to  allow  shame  or  the  fear  of  personal  risk  to  deter 
him  from  visiting  Paul  in  this  his  second  imprisonment 
and  near  prospect  of  martyrdom. 

One  sees  from  the  whole  tone  of  this  most  pathetic 
and  yet  most  triumphant  of  Paul's  epistles,  that,  while 
he  tenderly  loved  his  "son  Timothy,"  and  while  he  had 
the  utmost  confidence  in  his  ability,  purity,  and  piety, 
there  was  just  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  his  mind  lest  he 
prove  deficient  in  manliness.  And  so  throughout  the 
Epistle  we  find  him  guarding  this  weak  point  by  admo- 
nitions,— delicate  as  the  admonitions  of  that  consummate 
courtesy  always  were, — affectionate,  as  from  that  great 
loving  heart  they  could  not  fail  to  be, — but  unmistakable 
in  their  significance. 

"  Be  not  thou  therefore  ashamed  of  the  testimony  of 
our  Lord,  nor  of  me  his  prisoner  ;  but  be  thou  partaker 
of  the  afflictions  of  the  gospel  according  to  the  power  of 
God. "  "  The  Lord  give  mercy  unto  the  house  of  Onesiph- 
orus  ;  for  he  oft  refreshed  me,  and  was  not  ashamed 
of  my  chain."  "Thou  therefore  my  son  be  strong 
in  the  grace  that  is   in  Christ  Jesus."     "  Thou  therefore 

125 


endure  hardness,  as  a  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ."  "But 
watch  thou  in  all  things,  endure  afflictions,  do  the  work 
of  an  evangelist,  make  full  proof  of  thy  ministry." 

In  our  text  he  grounds  the  exhortation  to  Christian 
manliness  upon  the  very  nature  of  Christianity.  "God 
hath  not  given  us  the  spirit  of  fear,  but  of  power  and  of 
love  and  of  self-control." 

The  Spirit  of  Christ,  the  Holy  Spirit  that  dwelleth 
in  us,  is  not  a  spirit  that  prompts  to  timidity,  to  caution, 
to  shrinking  from  scorn  and  danger,  and  to  a  weak  yield- 
ing to  the  tyranny  of  circumstances,  but  a  spirit  whose 
fruits  are  "power"  to  do  and  dare,  "love"  that  shrinks 
not  from  self-sacrifice,  and  "  self-control  "  that  knows 
how  to  endure.  In  other  words  Christianity  is  in  its 
very  essence  a  virile  religion,  a  religion  that  demands  and 
develops  manliness. 

The  theme  thus  suggested  to  us  :  Christianity  a 
Virile  Rkligion,  seems  to  me  not  unsuited  to  an  occa- 
sion like  this.  * 

We  are  here  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city.  And 
what  is  a  great  city  but  a  great  throbbing  center  of  mas- 
culine life  and  energy  ?  When  we  think  of  a  village  we 
think  of  a  cluster  of  homes.  Our  imagination  instantly 
calls  up  visions  of  children  at  play  and  housewives  busy 
about  their  doors.  But  when  we  think  of  a  city,  though 
indeed  it  is  full  of  homes,  it  is  not  these  that  rise  first  to 
our  thought  but  rather  the  market,  the  forum,  the  ex- 
change, with  their  throng  of  eager,  jostling,  earnest 
men. 

When  therefore  in  the  person  of  the  ambassador  of 
Christ,  Wisdom  now,  as  of  old,  takes  her  stand  "  in  the 
top  of  the  high  places,  by  the  way  of  the  places  of  the 
paths,"  when  "  she  crieth  at   the  gates,   at  the  entry  of 

♦Installation  of  Rev.  S.  J.  McPherson,   D.  D.,  as  pastor  of  the  Second 
Presbyterian  Church,  November  19,  1882. 

126 


the  city,  at  the  coming  in  at  the  doors,"  her  word 
as  of  old  must  be  :  "Unto  you,  O  men,  I  call,  and  my 
voice  is  to  the  sons  of  men." 

If  it  is  not  so,  if  the  Christian  preacher  has  not 
something  to  say  worth  the  while  of  hard-headed,  keen- 
witted, busy,  practical  men  to  stop  and  hear,  if  the  relig- 
ion which  he  teaches  is  not  robust  and  virile  enough  to 
lay  its  hand  boldly  and  masterfully  upon  these  currents 
of  manly  activities,  and  give  worthy  scope  and  direction 
to  the  energies  which  are  here  centered,  then  he  is  out 
of  his  place  in  such  a  city  and  such  a  pulpit  as  this. 

It  is  useless  to  conceal  from  ourselves  that  Chris- 
tianity has  sometimes  fallen  under  suspicion,  as  though 
it  were  wanting  in  those  elements  which  should  enlist 
the  sympathies  and  elicit  the  enthusiasm  of  the  distinct- 
ively manly  character.  Thomas  Hughes,  in  his  essay  on 
"The  Manliness  of  Christ,"  gives  a  striking  proof  of  the 
existence  of  this  feeling,  in  his  account  of  a  proposed 
Society  to  be  called  "  The  Christian  Guild,"  the  mem- 
bers of  which,  though  they  must  be  first  of  all  Christians, 
were  to  be  selected  as  far  as  possible  for  some  act  of 
physical  prowess,  the  motive  for  such  an  organization 
being  that  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Associations, 
though  increasing  in  numbers,  were  wholly  failing  to 
reach  the  class  which  most  needed  Christian  influence, 
because  of  an  alleged  feeling  that  these  associations, 
however  valuable  in  some  ways  they  might  be,  "did 
not  cultivate  individual  manliness  in  their  members,  and 
that  this  defect  was  closely  connected  with  their  open 
profession  of  Christianity." 

The  same  feeling  has  its  silent  but  unmistakable  wit- 
ness in  the  marked  preponderance  of  women  to  be  seen 
in  the  composition  of  any  average  Christian  congrega- 
tion, and  in  the  membership  of  any  ordinary  Christian 
church.       It  reveals  itself  in  the  conduct  of  those  hus- 

127 


hands  and  fathers,  hy  no  means  few,  who  encourage 
church  attendance  and  church  membership  in  their  wives 
and  daughters  while  themselves  deliberately  holding 
aloof  from  the  latter,  at  least,  if  not  from  both. 

There  is  reason  to  fear  too  that  the  feeling  that 
religion,  at  least  as  represented  by  the  Christian  church 
is  an  affair  for  women,  is  gaining  ground  just  at  the 
present  time.  Things  have  not  indeed  reached  the  pass 
with  us  to  which  they  have  come  in  Catholic  France, 
which  may  be  roughly  estimated  as  made  up  of  a  female 
population  of  devotees  and  a  male  population  of  infidels, 
but  the  tendency  seems  to  be  in  that  direction.  The 
church  seems  to  be  losing  rather  than  increasing  its  hold 
upon  the  masculine  half  of  our  population.  It  is  an 
ominous  fact,  e.  g.  which  I  find  quoted  from  a  circular 
of  the  Brooklyn  Y.  M.  C.  A.  that  less  than  one-tenth  of 
the  young  men  of  that  city  are  in  the  churches  and  Sun- 
day Schools. 

This  tendency,  if  unchecked,  must  inevitably  prove 
fatal.  If  the  defect  be  inherent  in  Christianity  itself, 
and  if  it  be  not  in  its  power  in  some  way  to  renew  its 
vigor  and  regain  that  lost  hold,  it  must  go  to  the  wall. 
No  religion  can  permanently  retain  its  power  over  society 
through  a  hold  on  either  sex  alone.  If  missionaries 
never  feel  that  the  gospel  has  a  secure  foothold  in  a 
heathen  land  till  it  has  gained  the  wives  and  mothers  to 
its  side,  we,  in  this  land,  must  equally  recognize  that  its 
footing  will  be  insecure  from  the  day  that  it  loses  the 
support  of  the  husbands  and  fathers. 

This  is  not  to  assume  that  the  masculine  nature  is 
superior  to  the  feminine.  I  should  be  the  last  to  make 
such  an  assumption.  Nor  yet  is  it  to  make  the  contrary 
assumption  which  in  some  quarters  begins  to  be  put  for- 
ward as  one  of  the  great  discoveries  of  the  age, — a  step 
forward    in    civilization.      You     may    take    either   view 

128 


you  choose  of  that  question  ;  or,  better  still,  you  may 
say  that  there  is  no  question  here  of  superior  and  infer- 
ior; but  that  either  sex  is  the  complement  of  the  other.  It 
remains  true  that  they  are  unlike,  and  that  unless  Chris- 
tianity appeals  to  and  satisfies  that  which  is  distinctively 
virile,  it  must  forfeit  its  hold  upon  men,  and  with  that  its 
sway  over  the  society  and  civilization  of  the  future. 

Nor  yet  is  it  anything  to  the  purpose  to  say  that  the 
reason    why   there   are   more  women   than  men   in   our 
churches    is    that    the    religious   instinct  is  stronger  in 
woman   than  in  man  ;   for  that   is  only  to  say  that,   by 
reason  of  that  stronger  instinct,  she  will   be  more  easily 
satisfied  ;  and  that  a  more  vigorous  and  perfect  religion 
is  needed  to   command  and  mould   the   less   impressible 
masculine  nature.      Call  it  what  you  please  then  ;  call  it 
a  virtue  or  a  defect  in  the  masculine  character,  the  fact 
remains,  that  a  religion  which  does  not  embrace  certain 
elements  will  not  appeal  strongly  to  that  character,  and 
will  not  rally  the  manhood  of  an  age  beneath  its  stand- 
ard.    Does  Christianity  contain  these  elements?     I  an- 
swer confidently,  yes,  in  fullest  measure.    To  the  young 
men  before  me  to-day  I  say  unhesitatingly  :  the  religion 
of    Jesus  Christ  challenges   your    attention,    challenges 
your  respect,  challenges  your  unreserved  surrender,  and 
hearty  enthusiasm  just  because  it  is  through  and  through 
a  virile  religion. 

Thus  in  the  first  place,  Christianity  appeals  to  man- 
hood as  a  religion  of  fact  rather  than  of  sentiment. 
It  addresses  itself  to  the  intellect  and  not  merely  to  the 
emotions.  It  has  been  said,  not  I  think  without  force, 
that  if  the  characteristic  womanly  virtue  is  love,  the 
characteristic  manly  virtue  is  truth  ;  that  is,  not  that 
women  are  more  deceitful  than  men,  but  that  while 
men  come  behind  women  in  unselfishness,  women 
come   perhaps    as  far   behind    men    in    the    capacity    to 

129 


deal  with  things  as  they  are.  That,  at  all  events, 
is  your  boast,  that  you  are  accustomed  to  act  upon 
fact,  and  not  upon  feeling.  But  that  is  the  ap- 
peal that  Christianity  makes  to  you.  It  comes  to 
you  with  a  series  of  historical  facts,  the  facts  of  the 
life,  death,  and  resurrection  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and 
back  of  these  a  series  of  spiritual  facts  of  which  these 
are  the  attestation,  and  asks  you  to  square  your  lives  to 
these  facts.  It  does  not  say  to  you:  "Believe  in  im- 
mortality because  it  is  dreary  to  think  that  death  ends 
all",  but:  "Believe  in  immortality,  because  Jesus 
Christ  rose  from  the  dead."  It  does  not  say  to  you  : 
"  Worship,  you  know  what,  and  cannot  know,  simply  be- 
cause there  is  an  instinct  of  veneration  in  your  soul  that 
must  have  expression."  It  says  to  you:.  "Worship 
God,  who  in  these  last  times  hath  spoken  unto  us  by  his 
son  and  hath  given  the  light  of  the  knowledge  of  his 
glory  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ." 

It  is  indeed  a  strange  thing  that  men  should,  like  our 
modern  agnostics,  capable  of  seriously  proposing  to  se- 
cure to  religion  a  new  lease  of  life  and  power  by  denying 
to  it  all  basis  of  fact  and  confining  it  wholly  to  the  sphere 
of  the  emotions,  substitute,  for  the  historic  Scriptures,  the 
poetry  of  Tennyson  and  Wordsworth,  and  for  the  worship 
of  a  crucified  and  risen  Redeemer  a  "worship  chiefly  of 
the  silent  sort  "  paid  to  an  "  unknowable  First  Cause." 
Men  want  a  religion  that  courts  light,  and  does  not  shun 
cross-questioning.  They  want  a  religion  that  touches 
bottom  somewhere.  Such  a  religion  they  find  in  the 
historic  gospel  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 

2.  Again,  Christianity  challenges  your  attention 
and  allegiance  because  it  is  a  religion  of  conscience  and  not 
of  ceremony.  Men  in  general  take  but  little  inter- 
est in  "ecclesiastical  millinery  ;"  or  to  speak  less  dis- 
respectfully, the  love  of  ornament  which  is  so  strong  in 

130 


woman,  is  too  weak  in  man  to  give  mere  ritual,  however 
imposing,  any  very  strong  hold  upon  his  mind.  It  is 
the  ethical  element  that  appeals  to  him.  The  gorgeous 
temple,  the  pealing  organ,  the  solemn  chants,  the  splen- 
did vestments,  cannot  save  a  religion  from  the  neglect 
and  contempt  of  the  masculine  mind,  if  the  moral  ear- 
nestness has  gone  out  of  it. 

Give  me  a  man,  I  care  not  how  rude  and  ungrammat- 
ical  his  speech,  how  uncouth  his  attire,  though  it  be  but 
a  garment  of  camel's  hair,  with  a  leathern  girdle  about 
his  loins,  how  primitive  his  pulpit,  thought  it  be  but  a 
dry-goods  box  at  the  street  corner,  or  a  rock  by  the 
riverside,  who  nevertheless,  like  John  the  Baptist, 
knows  how  to  cut  and  clear  his  way  through  the  veneer 
of  conventionalism,  the  husks  of  flimsy  excuse  and  un- 
conscious hyprocrisy,  straight  to  men's  consciences, 
making  them  hear  the  thunder  of  the  everlasting  "Thou 
shalt,"  and  "Thou  shalt  not,"  and  you  shall  see 
the  manhood  of  Jerusalem  or  of  Chicago  turning  its 
back  upon  the  splendor  of  the  temple  and  the  pomp  of 
its  ritual,  and  going  out  into  the  wilderness  for  to  hear 
him. 

To  this  one  element,  I  take  it,  more  than  to  all  else, 
Carlyle  owed  his  mighty  influence  over  the  most  virile 
thought  and  life  of  two  generations.  Now  it  is  as  a 
preacher  of  righteousness  that  the  Christian  minister  de- 
mands your  hearing.  Christianity  though  never  present- 
ed with  less  of  aesthetic  adornment,  never  commanded 
more  of  manly  respect  and  devotion  than  in  the  days  of 
Knox,  of  Cromwell's  Ironsides,  and  of  the  Puritans  ; 
and  it  did  so  by  virtue  of  its  vigorous  assertion  of  ever- 
lasting righteousness. 

3.  Once  more,  Christianity  appeals  to  you  as  men, 
because  it  is  an  aggressive  religion.  I  lately  heard  a  man 
say  that  he  could   conceive  of   no   life   more  distasteful 

131 


than  that  of  a  soldier  on  garrison  duty.  It  was  an  ex- 
pression of  the  manly  instinct  for  action,  as  against  mere 
waiting  and  enduring.  A  religion  which  does  not  ap- 
peal to  that  instinct, — which  does  not  offer  a  field  of  ac- 
tion broad  enough,  and  enterprise  grand  enough  to  give 
scope  to  the  intensest  energy,  is  not  a  religion  for  men. 
But  where  will  you  find  these  if  Christianity  does  not 
offer  them  ?  Its  field  is  the  world,  its  enterprise,  the  re- 
construction of  society,  the  emancipation  of  mankind 
from  spiritual  bondage,  and  the  establishment  of  a  uni- 
versal kingdom  of  God. 

It  is  sometimes  laid  as  a  reproach  against  the  gospel 
that  it  inculcates  only  the  passive  virtues,  meekness, 
patience,  and  resignation.  It  does  inculcate  the 
passive  virtues.  It  needs  to  inculcate  them,  for  they  are 
the  hardest  to  attain.  It  needed  not  only  to  inculcate 
them  but  to  place  them  in  the  foreground,  under  an  over- 
whelming emphasis  of  precept  and  example,  in  the  face 
of  Roman  pride  and  Jewish  vindictiveness,  in  an  age 
when  revenge  was  a  duty,  submission  a  weakness,  and 
humility  a  reproach.  But  if  it  be  said  that  it  fails  to  lay 
stress  upon  the  active  virtues  also, — courage,  persever- 
ence,  benevolence,  philanthropy, — where  is  the  proof  ? 
God  hath  not  given  us  the  spirit  of  fear,  but  of  power, 
not  of  tame  submission  but  of  energetic  action.  "I 
have  written  unto  you  young  men  "  not  because  ye  are 
patient,  but  "because  ye  are  strong" — is  its  appeal. 
Its  metaphors  are  full  of  energy.  It  is  a  warfare,  a  race, 
an  athletic  contest.  Throughout,  we  hear  the  ring  of 
the  martial  cry,  and  see  the  clash  of  the  contending 
hosts  of  light  and  darkness. 

It  cannot  have  escaped  any  student  of  Old  Testa- 
ment history  that  religion  had  its  strongest  hold  upon 
Israel  in  time  of  war.  One  reason  for  this  is  that  war 
was  its  only  mode  of    aggression.      Spiritually  it  could 

132 


not  go  forth  to  the  conquest  of  the  world  till  its  Messiah 
came  to  lead  it.  The  weapons  of  its  warfare  were  car- 
nal. Only  in  the  conquest  of  the  promised  land— in  the 
execution  of  Jehovah's  wrath  upon  the  worshipers  of 
false  gods,  were  the  religious  feeling  and  the  active 
energy  of  the  nation  brought  into  union.  And  so  in 
times  of  peace  religious  enthusiasm  was  apt  to  wane.  The 
same  is  true  of  Mohammedanism  to-day.  It  is  decay- 
ing, its  hold  upon  its  votaries  is  weakening  because  the 
sword  of  Islam  has  fallen  from  its  grasp  ;  and  its  only 
hope  of  revival,  as  friend  and  foe  alike  bear  witness, 
lies  in  a  new  war  of  religious  aggression.  But  Chris- 
tianity with  its  spiritual  weapons  calls  you  to  an  unceas- 
ing crusade  and  its  appeal  to  your  manhood  is  not  less, 
but  more  powerful,  because  this  crusade  is  not  one  of 
brute  force,  but  of  truth  and  of  character. 

4.  Yet  again,  Christianity  appeals  to  you  as  men 
because  it  is  a  heroic  religion. 

What  is  heroism  ?  Not  the  mere  power  to  face 
danger  ;  that  is  courage.  Not  the  mere  power  to  endure 
suffering  ;  that  is  fortitude.  Heroism  is  more.  A  noble 
motive  is  essential  to  make  a  hero.  The  hero  is  he  who 
faces  danger,  who  endures  suffering  and  hardship,  for 
duty  or  for  love. 

"So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
So  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  duty  whispers  low,  thou  must, 
The  youth  replies,  I  can." 

That  is  heroism. 

Where  indeed  will  you  find  a  truer  analysis  of  it 
than  in  these  words  of  our  text  :  "  God  hath  not  given 
us  the  spirit  of  fear,"  the  spirit  of  the  coward,  "but  of 
power  ; "  there  is  the  energy  to  undertake  a  difficult 
task;  "  and  of  love,"  there  is  the  unselfish  motive  that 
glorifies  it  ;   "  and  of  self-control,"  there  is  the  victory  of 

133 


the  willing  spirit  over  the  weak  flesh,  that  carries  it 
through. 

God  has  given  us  that  spirit.  The  Apostle  assumes 
that  by  the  very  nature  of  his  calling  the  Christian  is  a 
hero.      The  Spirit  of  God  makes  heroes  of  men. 

What  indeed  is  the  central  principle  of  the  Chris- 
tian life,  as  Christ  himself  taught  it  ?  Is  it  not  self-sac- 
rifice for  others  ?  And  is  not  that  the  very  essence  of 
heroism  ? 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  picture  such  heroism  to  you  as 
an  exclusively  or  peculiarly  masculine  trait.  Were  I  to  do 
so  the  silent  heroism  of  women's  lives  all  about  me  would 
put  me  to  instant  shame.  Indeed  it  is  but  true,  that,  as 
the  conditions  of  life  now  are,  while  the  demand  for 
heroism  is  an  occasional  thing  in  the  life  of  an  average 
man,  the  life  of  many  a  woman  is  one  long  exhibition  of 
heroism  ending  only  with  the  grave. 

What  I  do  say  is,  that  there  can  be  no  true  manli- 
ness without  this  element ;  and  that  if  religion  is  to  ap- 
peal powerfully  to  men  it  must  address  itself  to  that  la- 
tent capacity  for  heroism  which  we  find  buried  some- 
where even  in  the  man  of  flabbiest  moral  fibre. 

Listen,  O  man,  to  that  call  as  it  comes  to  you  to- 
day from  the  lips  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  grandest 
hero  that  ever  trod  the  earth,  a  call  to  deeds  of  power, 
to  deeds  of  unselfish  love,  to  the  endurance  of  hardship 
with  manly  self-control.  Is  there  nothing  in  your  bosom 
that  kindles  in  response  to  such  a  call  ?  Stirs  there  no 
enthusiasm  within  you  to  follow  such  a  leader  ? 

For  turn  with  me  now  for  a  moment  from  consider- 
ing Christianity  as  an  abstraction  to  look  at  Christ  him- 
self.     Is  he  a  leader  for  men  to  follow,  or  not  ? 

I  once  read  a  Jewish  sketch  which  purported  to  set 
forth  the  experience  of  an  Israelite  youth  who  embraced 
Christianity,  but   in   a   few  years   renounced   it   and    re- 

134 


turned  to  the  faith  of  his  fathers,  because  his  manly  in- 
stincts could  not  brook  the  leadership  of  the  meek  and 
unresisting  sufferer  of  Calvary. 

The  test  is  a  fair  one.  If  Jesus  is  not  a  manly  lead- 
er, then  Christianity  is  not  a  religion  for  men.  If  there  is 
in  him  anything  weak,  if  anywhere  in  his  career  it  is  the 
spirit  of  fear  rather  than  of  power  and  of  love  and  of 
self-control  that  shapes  his  action,  then  turn  away  from 
him  and  find  yourselves  a  leader  of  sterner  stuff. 

But  where  is  the  weakness  ?  where  is  the  unmanli- 
ness  ?  I  grant  he  was  womanly,  too.  And  I  grant  that 
the  painter's  art,  startled  at  the  discovery  in  him  of  all 
those  traits  to  which  we  are  wont  to  do  homage  as  the 
peculiar  glory  of  womanhood,  has  too  often  lost  sight  of 
his  manliness,  and  placed  an  effeminate  figure  upon  its 
canvas.  But  I  deny  that  the  gospels  are  responsible 
for  the  portrait.  I  claim  it  the  crowning  glory  of  the 
Son  of  Man  that  in  him  a  complete  humanity,  both 
compact  strength  and  all  womanly  grace,  found  its  con- 
summate expression. 

A  meek  and  unresisting  sufferer.  Yes,  but  is  that 
all  ?  Is  there  no  manly  independence  in  his  calm  defi- 
ance of  bigotry,  as  in  the  synagogue  amid  lowering 
glances  he  heals  a  palsied  man  or  a  crippled  woman  on 
the  Sabbath-day  ?  Is  there  no  manly  indignation  in 
those  woes  against  the  Pharisees,  and  in  that  glance  be- 
fore which  the  money  changers  in  the  temple  quail  and 
flee  ?  Is  there  no  manly  courage  in  that  unfaltering 
step  with  which  month  after  month  he  walked  with  open 
eyes  toward  a  cross  ?  Is  there  no  manly  breadth  of 
view  in  that  plan  for  the  establishment  of  a  society  to 
last  through  the  generations  with  no  other  foundation 
than  attachment  to  himself,  and  no  other  bond  of  union 
than  two  simple  rites  ?  Is  there  no  manly  power  in  that 
life-work  which  in  little  more  than  three  short  years,  with 

135 


out  arms,  without  numbers,  without  prestige,  turned  the 
currents  of  history  into  new  channels,  and  wins  an  enj 
during  supremacy  over  men  for  which  Alexander) 
Caesar,  Napoleon  waded  in  vain  through  seas  of  blood. 

Is  it  then  in  the  last  tragedy  that  his  manhood 
breaks  down?  "The  meek  and  unresisting  sufferer"  ! 
And  what  then?  He  should  have  resisted?  He  should 
have  fought?  He  should,  like  Elijah,  have  called  down 
fire  from  heaven  to  consume  the  band  that  came  out  to 
take  him?  Nay,  there  is  something  manlier  than  fight- 
ing; it  is  to  die  willingly  that  others  may  live.  It  is  to 
have  the  power  to  save  one's  self  and  refuse  to  use  it, 
because  to  save  one's  self  would  be  to  leave  others  to 
perish.- 

The  other  day  a  railroad  train  was  rushing  at  ex- 
press speed  toward  its  terminus  but  a  few  miles  away, 
when  the  passengers  in  the  forward  car  were  startled  by 
the  bursting  in  upon  them  of  the  engineer  and  fireman, 
followed  by  a  rush  of  smoke  and  flame.  The  cab  of  the 
engine  had  caught  fire  from  the  open  door,  and  fanned 
by  the  swift  motion  was  almost  instantly  in  a  furious 
blaze.  The  fireman  tried  to  reach  the  air  brake,  but 
could  not  for  the  press.  A  few  moments  only  and  that 
train  unchecked,  uncontrolled,  would  have  rushed  to  inev- 
itable and  ghastly  wreck.  The  engineer  turned,  looked 
a  moment  into  the  sheeted  flame,  then  set  his  lips  and 
climbed  over  the  tender.  A  tremor,  a  check,  a  stop, 
and  in  two  or  three  minutes  a  scorched  and  blackened 
figure  is  seen  slowly,  painfully  making  its  way  over  the 
tender  again.  They  did  what  they  could  for  him;  but  it 
was  of  no  avail.  The  flame  had  done  its  work.  For 
duty  and  for  the  lives  dependent  on  him  he  had  gone 
deliberately  into  fiery  death. 

That  was  manliness.  But  it  was  a  grander  triumph 
of   that   same  manliness  when   Jesus  is  seen  walking  for 

136 


months  straight  toward  a  death  more  agonizing.  And 
when  at  last  he  came  face  to  face  with  it,  standing  for 
hours  in  calm  dignity,  silent  and  motionless,  his  flesh 
laid  open  to  the  bone  with  the  cruel  scourge,  while  round 
him  raged  a  wild  storm  of  blind,  vindictive  fury  shower- 
ing buffets  and  insults  and  jeers  upon  his  head,  yet 
neither  cringing  nor  cursing.  Standing  that,  not  because 
he  cannot  help  it,  for  there  are  legions  of  angels  at  his 
call,  and  in  his  person  slumbers  a  power  which  had 
quelled  the  storm  and  trod  the  waves, — and  when  at  last 
the  cruel  cross  finished  the  ghastly  work,  hearing  un- 
moved the  challenge  to  save  himself,  because  to  save 
himself  would  have  been  to  leave  a  world  full  of  perish- 
ing men  and  women  to  a  fate  more  dreadful  and  to 
agonies  more  dire. 

Where,  if  not  here,  shall  we  find  the  supreme 
triumph  of  power  and  of  love  and  of  self-control?  Take 
from  Agamemnon  old  Homer's  noble  epithet  "  King  of 
men."  Here  is  one  who  claims  it  by  a  higher  right  in  a 
grander  sense. 

If,  then,  there  is  so  much  in  Christ,  so  much  in 
Christianity  as  it  came  from  him  to  appeal  to  manly 
character  and  evoke  manly  enthusiasm,  the  fault, — if  it 
shall  ever  lose  its  hold  upon  men, — must  lie  in  the 
presentation. 

And  here,  brethren  in  the  ministry,  this  theme 
comes  home  to  us  with  the  burden  of  a  great  responsi- 
bility. The  preacher  of  a  virile  religion  has  need  to  be 
a  manly  man. 

More  than  once  of  late  have  I  come  upon  hints  of  a 
popular  impression  that  ministers  are  deficient  in  manli- 
ness, "that  they  are  not  to  be  counted  on  in  great 
emergencies  where  physical  courage  and  physical  man- 
hood are  demanded  "  ;  that,  in  short,  there  is  a  shade  of 
effeminacy  about  them.      Brethren,   we  cannot  afford  to 

137 


let  such  an  impression  prevail.  God  hath  not  given  us 
the  spirit  of  fear  but  of  power.  Go  over  in  your  thought 
the  preachers  of  great  power,  the  preachers  who  not 
simply  amuse  but  move  and  hold  men,  and  you  will  find 
that  however  they  may  differ  in  their  theology,  in  their 
ecclesiastical  relations,  in  their  style  of  eloquence,  with 
rare  exceptions  they  agree  in  this  that  they  are  thoroughly 
manly  men. 

More  than  this,  our  preaching,  if  it  is  to  hold  men's 
attention,  must  abound  in  those  elements  of  which  I  have 
spoken.  It  must  be  thoughtful  preaching.  Flowers  of 
rhetoric,  roseate  clouds  of  mysticism,  tender  gushes  of 
sentimentalism,  will  not  long  hold  men.  They  must  have 
hard,  solid  thought.  Withal  it  must  be  intellectually 
bold  preaching.  "The  spirit  of  fear"  is  not  God's 
Spirit,  in  the  pulpit  any  more  than  out  of  it.  The 
preacher  who  would  make  men  listen  to  him  must  not 
fear  to  grapple  with  their  diffiulties.  It  will  not  do  for 
him  timidly  to  hug  the  shore  ;  he  must  show  them  that 
he  has  a  compass  with  which  he  dares  to  sail  the  deepest 
sea.  But  it  must  be  intellectually  bold  in  another  sense, 
he  must  not  fear  to  take  a  position.  I  have  no  faith  in 
nebulous,  non-committal  preaching  as  an  expedient  for 
holding  the  men  who  are  drifting  away  from  the  church. 

Our  preaching  again  must  be  strongly  ethical.  If 
like  Paul  we  would  make  men  tremble  and  yet  come 
again  to  hear,  we  must  like  him  reason  with  them  "of 
righteousness  and  temperance  and  judgment  to  come." 
The  preaching  of  mere  morality  is  a  weak  thing  enough  ; 
it  is  a  ball  without  powder,  but  the  preaching  that  leaves 
morality  out  is  weaker  yet  ;  it  is  powder  without  a  ball, — 
a  mere  flash  in  the  pan. 

Again  if  we  would  hold  men  we  must  set  before  them 
something  to  do.  We  must  preach  an  aggressive  Chris- 
tianity.     Our  sermons  must  be  drum-beats. 

138 


And  finally  we  must  keep  before  them  the  heroic 
ideal.  If  we  fear  to  preach  sacrifice,  fear  to  preach  self- 
denial,  fear  to  summon  men  to  endure  hardness  as  good 
soldiers  of  Jesus  Christ,  they  may  flatter  but  they  will 
not  follow  us. 

But,  fellow  Christians,  this  theme  has  a  broader  ap- 
plication than  to  the  ministry.  If  there  is  any  truth  in 
the  impression  that  the  men  are  drifting  away  from  our 
churches,  it  is  not  all  the  fault  of  the  pulpit.  A  virile 
Christianity  must  be  lived  as  well  as  preached. 

Fellow  Christians,  it  is  a  grave  question  for  you  to 
consider  whether  in  Christianity  as  exhibited  in  the 
ordinary  church  life  of  to-day  there  has  been  any  loss  of 
power,  any  decay  of  manly  vigor. 

If  a  self-indulgent  church  settles  itself  in  softly  cush- 
ioned pews  to  listen  to  an  intellectual  treat,  to  the 
stirring  tones  of  a  manly  minister,  and  thinks  that  he  is 
going  to  catch  men  and  hold  them,  it  might  as  well  send 
him  in  a  straight  jacket  to  save  drowning  men.  He 
might  better,  far  better,  so  far  as  his  spiritual  influence 
is  concerned,  go  and  take  his  stand  like  Whitefield  in  a 
meadow  with  no  responsibility  but  to  God  above. 

Whenever  and  wherever  the  faith  of  the  church  be- 
comes a  tradition  rather  than  a  reasoned  conviction,  the 
morals  of  the  church  an  accommodation  to  conventional 
standards  rather  than  an  uncompromising  imitation  of 
Christ,  the  organization  of  the  church  a  kind  of  sacred 
club,  rather  a  band  of  earnest  Christian,  loving  souls 
united  for  a  sturdy  grapple  with  ignorance  and  pauper- 
ism and  every  other  great  social  curse,  and  for  resistance 
unto  blood  if  need  be,  striving  against  sin, — the  life  of 
the  church  finally,  a  life  of  decent  compliance  with  cer- 
tain becoming  observances,  but  without  sacrifice,  without 
self-denial,  without  any  high  inspiration  of  unselfish 
motive, — then  and  there  it  will  have  forfeited  and  justly 

139 


forfeited  all  power  of  influence  over  the  earnest  manhood 
of  the  time. 

If  these  things  or  any  of  them  are  true  in  any  degree 
of  the  church  life  of  to-day,  (and  whether  they  are  so, 
and  how  far,  I  leave  it  to  you  to  judge)  so  far  it  has  itself 
to  blame  if  it  finds  something  of  that  influence  already 
gone. 

What  is  it  that  enables  the  Salvation  Army  of  Eng- 
land to-day  to  exert  such  astounding  power  over  masses 
of  men  so  low  and  so  brutalized  that  the  church  had 
given  them  up  as  beyond  hope?  Not  its  banners,  not  its 
brass  bands,  not  its  queer  terminology  and  queerer 
hymnology,  not  chiefly  its  masterly  organization  even,  but 
these  two  things  above  all,  that  over  against  churches 
which  are  content  to  stand  mainly  on  the  defensive,  it  is 
a  movement  of  intense,  determined,  deadly  aggression 
upon  the  very  strongholds  of  Satan's  kingdom;  and  that 
over  against  the  indolent  self-indulgence  which  too  often 
gets  itself  called  Christianity,  it  means,  for  every  man 
and  woman  who  joins  it,  toil,  hardship,  and  sacrifice,  and 
danger  day  by  day,  for  Christ's  sake  and  the  gospel's. 

But  I  have  a  word  also  to  say  before  I  leave  this 
inspiring  theme  to  the  men  before  me  who  are  standing 
aloof  from  Christ.  Men  and  brothers,  in  vain  do  you 
seek  refuge,  in  such  a  position,  behind  any  such  blemishes 
as  these  at  which  we  have  glanced,  whether  in  church 
life  or  in  ministerial  character.  You  know  well  that 
Christianity  is  older  than  the  nineteenth  century  and  its 
source  higher  than  any  church  or  any  pulpit  of  to-day. 
If  you  refuse  to  be  on  Christ's  side  it  is  not  because 
Christianity  is  not  manly  enough  for  you.  Ah,  I  fear  it 
is  because  you  are  not  manly  enough  for  it.  Not  that  you 
are  not  summoned  to  a  worthy  enterprise  under  a  heroic 
leader,  but  that,  taking  counsel  of  "the  spirit  of  fear," 
you  have  not  had  manhood  enough  to  grapple  with  the 

140 


demon  of  Doubt  until  you  could  trample  it  beneath  your 
feet  and  take  your  stand  upon  everlasting  realities, — not 
manhood  enough  to  break  the  shackles  of  conventional- 
ism and  be  true  to  the  response  of  conscience  within  you 
to  the  words  of  Christ, — not  manhood  enough  to  throw 
yourselves  heart  and  soul  into  a  determined  fight  with 
sin, — not  manhood  enough  to  face  ridicule,  to  bear  to  be 
thought  singular,  to  run  the  risk  of  hardship  and  sacri- 
fice for  such  a  leader  and  in  such  a  cause. 

God  gives  another  spirit.  He  is  ready  to  give  it  to 
you,  even  the  spirit  of  power  and  of  love  and  of  self-con- 
trol.     Come,  seek  and  use  it. 

I  am  but  a  recruiting  sergeant.  In  the  name  of  the 
man  Christ  Jesus,  the  conquering  hero,  "the  captain  of 
our  salvation, "  "  the  prince  of  the  kings  of  the  earth," 
I  bid  you  come  and  enlist  under  his  banner.  Come, 
bring  a  man's  strong  arm  to  his  service;  come,  show  a 
man's  courage  in  his  battles  ;  come,  lay  the  devotion  of 
a  man's  heart  at  his  royal  feet. 


141 


THE   BAPTISM    OF    FIRE. 

/  indeed  baptize  you  zvith  water  ttnlo  repentance;  but  he  that 
eometh  after  me  is  mightier  than  J,  whose  shoes  I  am  not  worthy 
to  bear.  He  shall  baptize  you  zuilh  the  Holy  Ghost  and  zvith  fire. — 
Matt.  3:  11. 

Fire!  Mighty,  mysterious  word.  There  is  some- 
thing in  that  symbol  which  lays  hold  of  the  imagination 
as  almost  no  other  is  able  to  do.  It  stands  for  one  of 
nature's  subtlest  and  most  potent  agencies,  for  one  of 
man's  greatest  blessings,  and  for  one  of  his  direst  foes. 

The  geologist  tells  us  that  it  is  only  through  repeated 
baptisms  of  fire  that  this  globe  has  been  fitted  to  be  the 
abode  of  the  manifold  joyous  life  with  which  it  teems. 
And  were  it  cut  off  from  the  daily  baptism  of  fire  poured 
upon  it  from  the  blazing  reservoir  of  the  sun,  it  would 
soon  roll  through  space  a  silent  charnel-house  of  rock 
and  ice,  without  so  much  as  a  green  leaf  to  adorn  it  or 
an  insect's  wing  to  stir  its  air. 

Terrible  as  fire  is  to  man  in  its  uncontrolled  rage, — 
agent  and  emblem  of  uttermost  ruin  and]devastation, 
yet  curbed  and  controlled  it  is  his  most  indispensable 
ally  and  servant,  without  which  he  would  sink  to  a  level 
below  that  of  the  savage,  and  scarcely  raised  above  that 
of  the  brute.  There  is  no  myth  of  classic  antiquity 
more  pathetic  and  suggestive  than  that  which  tells  us 
how  Prometheus,  moved  with  pity  for  the  wretched  race 
of  mortals,  brought  them  the  gift  of  fire  in  a  hollow  reed, 
bringing  upon  himself  by  this  deed  of  mercy  the  dire 
vengeance  of  the  jealous  king  of  the  gods. 

The   cloud   of    smoke  which    day   and    night    hangs 

142 


above  our  city  is  an  offense  both  to  the  eye  and  to  the 
lungs;  yet  quench  the  countless  fires  in  factory,  in 
warehouse,  on  hearthstone,  in  locomotive,  and  in 
steamer  of  which  it  is  the  visible  token,  and  how  soon 
would  these  thronging  streets  become  a  grass-grown 
wilderness. 

It  is  not  strange  that  in  revealing  himself  to  man 
God  should  have  chosen  this  agent,  so  subtle,  so  resist- 
less, so  ethereal,  verging  so  closely  upon  the  spiritual, 
as  the  symbol  of  his  manifested  presence. 

Now,  it  is  the  smoking  furnace  and  the  burning  lamp 
passing  between  the  divided  portions  of  the  sacrifice, 
that  reveal  to  Abraham  the  presence  of  the  covenant 
God.  Again  it  is  the  bush  in  Horeb,  burning  but  not 
consumed,  which  makes  known  to  Moses  the  awful 
Presence  before  which  he  stands  with  unsandalled  feet. 
It  is  the  fiery,  cloudy  pillar  that  reveals  at  once  Jeho- 
vah's mercy  and  his  wrath,  as  it  stands  between  Israel 
and  Egypt  at  the  Red  Sea.  It  is  on  fire-crowned,  light- 
ning-girdled Sinai  that  he  gives  forth  his  law  to  Israel. 
In  the  Holy  of  Holies,  it  is  a  cloud  of  fire  upon  the 
mercy  seat  that  reveals  his  nearness  to  his  covenant 
people,  to  pardon  sin  and  to  answer  prayer.  It  is  in 
the  fire  from  heaven  consuming  the  sacrifice  on  Carmel 
that  he  answers  the  prophet's  prayer  for  a  revelation  of 
the  living  God.  It  is  in  chariots  and  horses  of  fire 
encircling  the  horizon  that  he  reveals  to  Elisha's 
affrighted  servant  his  protecting  presence  round  about 
his  people. 

When,  then,  in  ears  long  familiar  with  such  histories 
as  these  John  the  Baptist  cried:  "  I  indeed  baptize  you 
with  water  unto  repentance;  but  he  that  cometh  after 
me  is  mightier  than  I,  whose  shoes  I  am  not  worthy  to 
bear,  he  shall  baptize  you  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and 
with  fire,"  there  was  no  misunderstanding  these  words. 

143 


They  spoke  not  of  two  baptisms,  but  of  one,  and  that 
divine,  expressed  first  literally  and  then  in  consecrated 
prophetic  symbol.  "He  shall  baptize  you  with  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  with  fire." 

It  is  true  that  as  fire  both  purifies  and  destroys,  so 
this  emblem  of  fire  has  two  contrasted  aspects,  an  aspect 
of  mercy  and  an  aspect  of   terror.     There  is  a  fire  of 
God's  wrath  as  well  as  a  fire  of  God's  love.      "  Our  God 
is  a  consuming  fire." 

And  there  are  those  who,  misled  by  the  words  which 
follow  in  the  next  verse,  "He  shall  burn  up  the  chaff 
with  unquenchable  fire,"  would  see  here  two  contrasted 
baptisms,— a  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost  for  those  that 
believe,  a  baptism  of  consuming  fire  for  those  that 
believe  not. 

But  such  an  interpretation  misses  altogether  the 
force  of  the  emphatic  contrast  which  was  the  very  reason 
for  choosing  this  word  fire.  "  I  indeed  baptize  you  with 
water,  *  *  *  but  there  cometh  one  mightier  than  I  *  *  * 
He  shall  baptize  you  with  *  *  *  fire."  Clearly  this  is 
one  baptism  in  two-fold  expression,  the  literal  expression 
interpreting  the  symbolic,  and  the  symbolic  vivifying 
the  literal,  just  as  a  description  and  a  picture  of  the 
same  scene  interpret  and  vivify  each  other. 

He  shall  baptize  you  *  *  *  with  fire.  Dwell  a  mo- 
ment on  that  word.  Not  with  water,  but  with  fire. 
Water  and  fire  are  both  purifiers,  but  the  latter  how 
much  more  searching  and  thorough.  Fire  penetrates 
through  and  through  and  burns  out  the  dross  to  the 
very  core.  Water  bears  away  the  impurities  without 
destroying  them,  merely  changing  their  place.  Fire 
consumes  and  makes  away  with  them  utterly.  Water 
must  be  applied  again  and  again  to  the  same  surface  to 
remove  new  defilement.  Fire  does  its  work  once  for  all. 
A  busy  housewife  years  ago  fixed  this  thought  in  my 

144 


mind  as  a  nail  in  a  sure  place.  It  was  a  morning  of 
early  fall  when  grate-fires  were  beginning  to  be  kindled. 
She  was  busy  about  the  room  with  broom  and  dust-pan, 
gathering  up  the  rubbish  which  had  accumulated  in  this 
corner  and  in  that.  At  length  she  came  with  a  pan  full, 
tossed  it  upon  the  fire  in  the  grate,  watched  it  a  few 
seconds  first  sizzle  and  blaze,  then  glow,  then  vanish, 
and  turning  to  me  she  said:  "When  you  come  to  be  a 
housekeeper  you  will  feel  what  the  scriptures  mean  by 
their  frequent  references  to  fire  as  a  purifier."  And 
every  housekeeper  here  will  feel  it.  How  much  un- 
sightly rubbish  which  it  were  hard  to  find  a  place  for, 
which  else  must  needs  be  carried  off  and  deposited  upon 
some  heap  of  refuse,  there  to  blow  about  and  again  get 
under  foot,  or  to  pester  and  pollute  the  air  with  its 
odors,  does  the  fire  take  care  of  instantly  and  completely, 
so  that  it  is  never  heard  of  again. 

You  and  I,  my  friends,  need  more  than  a  surface 
washing  to  make  us  clean.  We  need  the  searching  of 
the  refiner's  fire.  Nothing  short  of  this  can  consume 
the  earthiness  and  selfishness  from  our  hearts,  leaving 
only  the  pure  gold  of  a  holy  character.  "  Two  things," 
says  McLaren,  "conquer  my  sin;  one  is  the  blood  of 
Jesus  Christ  which  washes  me  from  all  the  guilt  of  the 
past;  the  other  is  the  fiery  influence  of  that  divine  Spirit 
which  makes  me  pure  and  clean  for  all  time  to  come." 

But  again  fire  warms,  it  melts,  it  enkindles.  It  is  in 
all  tongues  the  ready  symbol  of  zeal,  of  enthusiasm,  of 
aroused  emotion.  We  speak  of  kindling  affections,  of 
a  soul  on  fire,  of  flaming  eloquence,  of  a  heart  melted 
with  love. 

And  this,  too,  is  what  the  baptism  of  fire  brings  to 
the  soul.  Without  this  baptism  the  Christian  life  is  a 
cold  routine  of  duty;  with  it  an  enthusiastic  service  of 
love. 

145 


This  it  was  that  burned  on  the  lips  of  Savonarola 
and  in  the  heart  of  Luther,  that  sent  Carey  to  India, 
sustained  Judson  in  that  frightful  imprisonment  in 
Burmah,  brightened  young  Harriet  Newell's  dying  bed 
on  the  Isle  of  France,  and  made  David  Brainerd  what 
he  so  often  prayed  that  he  might  be,  a  flame  of  fire  in 
the  service  of  his  God.  To  the  heart  that  has  received 
this  baptism,  sacrifice  for  Christ  is  a  joy,  toil  for  souls 
a  privilege,  and  death,  come  in  what  grim  form  it  may, 
a  triumph. 

And,  once  more,  fire  energizes.  To  the  chemist  in 
his  laboratory,  to  the  mechanic  in  his  factory,  to  the 
captain  upon  his  vessel,  fire  stands  for  the  compelling, 
moving  power.  It  is  a  conquering  element.  Kindle  it 
and  it  spreads.  It  seizes  upon  surrounding  material 
and  makes  it  its  own.  The  resistless  march  of  a  forest 
or  a  prairie-fire  is  something  never  to  be  forgotten  by 
any  one  who  has  witnessed  it.  So  this  baptism  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  is  an  endowment  of  power.  "Ye  shall 
receive  power,  after  that  the  Holy  Ghost  is  come  upon 
you:  and  ye  shall  be  witnesses  unto  me  both  in  Jerusa- 
lem, and  in  all  Judea,  and  in  Samaria,  and  unto  the 
uttermost  part  of  the  earth."  When  the  Church  received 
at  Pentecost  that  promised  baptism,  it  went  forth  on  a 
career  of  world  conquest  which  has  never  ceased.  With- 
out that  baptism  it  could  never  have  achieved  that 
work.  All  the  resources  of  wealth,  all  the  arts  of 
politics,  all  the  charms  of  eloquence  can  never  make 
Christianity  a  conquering  religion  where  that  fire  has 
died  out.  Every  revival  is  the  fruit  of  such  a  baptism. 
Every  successful  missionary,  every  mighty  evangelist, 
every  true  winner  of  souls  is  made  so  by  the  baptism  of 
fire.  Take  the  sermons  of  Whitefield  and  read  them. 
You  can  find  nothing  there  to  account  for  the  wonderful 
effect  of  his   preaching.     The   sermons  are  in  no  way 

HG 


remarkable.  It  was  the  fire  of  the  Holy  Ghost  that 
made  them  a  power.  But  that  fire  dwelt  in  the  man; 
you  cannot  find  it  on  the  printed  page.  So  if  you  were 
to  pick  up  a  spent  cartridge  from  which  the  bullet  had 
just  sped  that  laid  low  a  noble  stag,  you  might  say,  "I 
see  nothing  here  to  account  for  that  missile's  deadly 
work."  No;  for  the  fire  which  made  it  a  power  is  no 
longer  in  it.  Such  was  the  baptism  of  fire  of  which 
John  spake — a  copious  outpouring  of  God's  Spirit,  by 
which  souls  were  to  be  cleansed  from  sin,  to  be  inspired 
with  zeal,  and  to  be  energized  to  victorious  achieve- 
ment. 

Now  see  whence  this  baptism  of  fire  was  to  come. 
"I  indeed  baptize  you  with  water  unto  repentance;  but 
he  that  cometh  after  me  is  mightier  than  I,  whose  shoes 
I  am  not  worthy  to  bear.  He  shall  baptize  you  with 
the  Holy  Ghost  and  with  fire." 

Christ  alone  can  give  this  baptism.  What  humility 
is  there  in  the  contrast  which  the  forerunner  thus  draws 
between  himself  and  the  One  who  was  to  follow  him; 
what  comfort  and  instruction  also  for  the  disciple  of 
Christ. 

The  contrast  as  the  Baptist  presented  it  was  two- 
fold, a  contrast  on  the  one  hand  between  man's  work, 
and  Christ's  work,  and  on  the  other  hand  between  the 
old  dispensation  and  the  new.  There  is  a  contrast  be- 
tween man's  work  and  Christ's  work.  John  could  show 
men  their  sins,  he  could  lead  them  to  a  formal  pro- 
fession of  repentance  and  outward  amendment  of  life; 
but  he  could  not  impart  the  Holy  Ghost.  He  could  not 
melt  the  stony  heart.  Only  God  could  do  that.  And 
in  this  very  prediction  there  is  a  virtual  ascription  of 
divinity  to  the  Messiah  whom  he  heralded. 

Ah,  my  friends,  this  is  as  true  to-day  as  it  was  in 
John's  day.     I  can  baptize  you  with  water.     I  can  take 

W 


your  outward  confession  of  sin,  and  on  the  strength  of 
it  can  receive  you  into  the  visible  church.  But  if  that 
is  all  that  has  passed  you  are  in  no  happy  case.  I  fear 
the  visible  church  contains  to-day  too  many  such  man- 
made  Christians.  Christians  whose  conversion,  or  what 
passes  for  such,  is  a  purely  human  change,  based  on 
their  own  human  resolves,  brought  about  by  human 
motives,  under  the  influence  of  human  persuasions, 
without  one  spark  of  the  fire  from  heaven.  No  wonder 
such  Christians  are  hard  to  distinguish  from  the  world 
around  them,  sharing  the  same  tastes,  running  after  the 
same  vanities,  and  often  returning  after  a  little  to  the 
world  altogether,  as  so  many  of  the  multitudes  whom 
John  baptized  without  doubt  have  done. 

My  friend,  are  you  such  a  Christian?  I  charge  you 
seek  without  delay,  from  the  only  one  who  can  give  it, 
the  baptism  with  the  Holy  Ghost.  "Except  a  man  be 
born  again  he  cannot  see  the  Kingdom  of  God."  But 
was  not  John  a  prophet  of  the  Lord,  and  would  not  the 
Lord  set  the  seal  of  his  own  blessing  upon  his  work? 
Doubtless  he  would  and  did.  The  same  spirit  who 
spake  by  the  prophets  did  in  all  ages  make  their  word 
effectual  to  some  real  spiritual  results.  Still  there  was 
a  contrast  between  the  work  of  the  Baptist  even  con- 
sidered as  God's  instrument  and  the  work  of  Christ  for 
which  it  prepared  the  way.  The  contrast  here  was  one 
of  degree.  It  was  the  contrast  between  a  measure  of 
the  Spirit's  influence  such  as  John's  baptism  with  water 
might  fitly  typify,  and  the  overwhelming  fulness  of  that 
influence  expressed  as  a  baptism  with  fire. 

The  Baptist  still  stood  in  the  shadows  of  that  elder 
dispensation  whose  characteristic  instrument  was  the 
law,  whose  characteristic  grace  was  repentance.  The 
fulness  of  the  Spirit,  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  spirit 
of  adoption  whereby  we  cry  Abba,  Father,  these  were 

148 


among  the  better  things  reserved  for  those  to  whom  was 
preached  the  gospel  of  an  incarnate,  crucified,  and 
risen  Redeemer.  I  know  not  how  to  illustrate  this  dif- 
ference of  degree  between  the  measure  of  the  Spirit  en- 
joyed by  holy  men  under  the  old  dispensation  and  the 
fulness  of  the  Spirit  which  is  man's  privilege  under  the 
new,  better  than  in  the  words  of  Wm.  Arthur  in  that 
book  to  which  I  gladly  acknowledge  my  deep  indebted- 
ness,  "The  Tongue  of  Fire." 

"A  piece  of  iron  is  dark  and  cold;  imbued  with  a 
certain  degree  of  heat  it  becomes  almost  burning  with- 
out any  change  of  appearance;  imbued  with  a  still 
greater  degree  its  very  appearance  changes  to  that  of 
solid  fire  and  it  sets  fire  to  whatever  it  touches.  A 
piece  of  water  without  heat  is  solid  and  brittle;  gently 
warmed  it  flows,  further  heated  it  mounts  to  the  sky. 
*****  Such  is  the  soul  without  the  Holy  Ghost  and 
such  are  the  changes  which  pass  upon  it  when  it 
receives  the  Holy  Ghost  and  when  it  is  '  filled  with  the 
Holy  Ghost.'  " 

Thus  to  baptize  men  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  in 
fullest  measure,  was  the  end  for  which  Christ  both  died 
and  rose  and  ascended.  John  the  Baptist  said  much 
more,  if  we  are  to  judge  by  the  fragments  of  his  preach- 
ing recorded  in  the  gospels,  of  this  baptism  of  fire  than 
of  the  sacrifice  of  the  Lamb  of  God  for  the  sin  of  the 
world.  And  with  reason,  Jesus  himself  ever  led  the 
minds  of  his  disciples  onward  from  what  he  would  do 
for  them  upon  the  cross  to  what  he  would  do  for  them 
upon  the  throne.  Every  step  of  that  life  from  Bethany 
to  Olivet,  was  a  step  toward  that  blessed  consummation, 
the  sending  of  the  Comforter.  Forgiveness  of  sins  but 
opens  the  way  to  communion  with  God.  The  blood 
shed  on  Calvary  was,  we  may  say  it  without  irreverence, 
but   the  price  paid  by   the   world's    Redeemer   for  the 

149 


privilege  of  baptizing  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  with 
fire. 

Suffer  me  then  once  more  follow-Christian,  to  press 
this  question:  Have  you  yet  received  the  baptism  of 
fire?  Granting  that  you  are  a  true  Christian,  that  you 
have  been  born  of  the  Spirit,  still  I  urge  this  question, 
Have  you  received  this  fulness  of  the  Spirit,  this  puri- 
fying, kindling,  energizing,  by  that  divine  fire  which  is 
your  privilege  in  this  gospel  day?  The  tokens  are  not 
hard  to  discern.  The  question  is  not  at  all  whether 
you  are  as  good  a  Christian  as  you  might  be  and  wish  to 
be.  Even  the  fire  of  God's  Spirit  does  not  consume  sin 
all  at  once.  But  are  you  a  growing  Christian?  Are  you 
a  happy  Christian?  Are  you  an  enthusiastic  Christian? 
If  not,  surely  there  is  something  wrong.  Why  should 
you  miss  the  very  distinctive  blessing  of  the  gospel? 
Why  in  this  dispensation  of  the  Spirit  should  you  still 
be  living  on  an  Old  Testament  plane  and  painfully 
plodding  through  an  Old  Testament  experience. 

The  Christian  life  is  too  high  a  life  to  be  lived  suc- 
cessfully without  this  baptism.  The  task  set  before  the 
wretched  children  of  Jacob  to  make  bricks  without 
straw,  was  nothing  compared  to  the  task  he  sets  before 
himself  who  essays  to  live  as  Christ  calls  him  to  live 
without  this  fire  in  his  soul.  As  well  expect  a  glacier 
to  do  the  work  of  a  river,  clothing  its  banks  with  ver- 
dure, and  making  the  fields  over  which  it  passes  rich 
with  the  golden  corn,  as  expect  a  disciple  of  Christ  to 
bless  the  world  with  his  presence,  and  bear  abundant 
fruit  to  his  Master's  glory,  whose  cold,  worldly,  selfish 
heart  has  not  been  thoroughly  melted  down  under  a 
baptism  of  fire. 

As  American  Christians  we  rejoice  in  our  untramelled 
freedom  to  work  out  our  problem  of  "a  free  Christian 
in  a  free  state."     As  evangelical  Christians  we  rest  our 

150 


hope  upon  a  Christian  membership  based  upon  personal 
experience  of  saving  grace.  As  Calvinistic  Christians  we 
exalt  fidelity  to  the  whole  truth  of  God's  Word.  As  Pres- 
byterian Christians  we  lay  claim  to  an  ecclesiastical  sys- 
tem combining  in  a  rare  degree  liberty  with  order,  stability 
with  efficiency.  Never  perhaps  in  all  history  has  a 
church  had  a  grander  opportunity,  freer  scope,  ampler 
resources,  or  better  facilities  for  fulfilling  its  grand 
commission  to  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature. 

But  one  thing  is  lacking, — the  baptism  of  fire!  Yes, 
fire!  That  is  what  we  need  to  solve  the  ever-recurring 
problem  of  debt,  which  our  Boards  of  Missions  are  so 
often  compelled  to  face.  Improved  schemes  for  revenue 
are  well,  but  though  we  scheme  and  scheme  until  we  die, 
nothing  but  fire  from  heaven  will  unlock  the  treasures 
held  fast  in  the  icy  fetters  of  selfishness  and  worldliness, 
flooding  the  treasuries  of  the  church  with  streams  of 
gold  and  silver  till  there  shall  not  be  room  to  receive 
them,  and  making  the  desert  to  rejoice  and  blossom  as 
the  rose. 

Fire!  This  is  the  one  remedy  for  the  divisions  of 
Christendom  —  for  the  unseemly  rivalries  on  mission- 
fields,  sometimes  abroad  and  oftener  still  at  home, 
which  waste  the  Lord's  money  and  put  a  stumbling 
block  in  the  way  of  souls.  In  this  fire  the  sects,  which 
like  so  many  bars  of  iron,  have  lain  side  by  side  in  frigid 
isolation  or  smitten  upon  one  another  in  the  angry 
clangor  of  polemic  strife,  would  flow  and  fuse  together 
in  a  glow  of  brotherly  love  like  the  molten  metal  in  the 
fierce  heat  of  the  furnace. 

My  brethren,  why  have  we  not  this  baptism?  Did 
not  Christ,  when  he  promised  his  last  best  gift,  promise 
it  as  a  comforter  who  should  abide  with  us  forever.  Is 
the  gift  of  Pentecost  exhausted?     Is  the  energy  spent 


151 


that  made  the  progress  of  the  apostolic  church  such  a 
marvelous  succession  of  victories? 

Or  are  we,  busied  with  our  plans  and  our  machinery, 
forgetting  that  all  these  are  inert  and  powerless  till 
energized  by  the  fire  of  the  Holy  Ghost? 

God  grant  that  in  answer  to  united  prayer,  that 
baptism  may  fall  here  and  now  upon  pastor  and  people, 
to  his  glory  and  the  salvation  of  multitudes. 


152 


THE   WORLD'S   PREPARATION    FOR   THE 
GOSPEL. 

But  when  the  fulness  of  the  time  zvas  come,  God  sent  forth 
his  Son. — Gal.  4:  4. 

In  this  one  sentence  is  contained  the  substance  of  a 
true  philosophy  of  history.  It  directs  our  thought  at 
once  to  the  incarnation  of  the  Son  of  God  as  the  one 
central  and  supreme  event  for  which  the  ages  waited, 
for  which  all  foregoing  history  was  the  preparation,  and 
which,  brought  to  pass  in  the  fulness  of  time,  laid  the 
foundation  for  that  process  of  redemption,  issuing  in 
the  elevation  of  humanity  to  the  dignity  of  sonship  to 
God  of  which  all  subsequent  history  is  but  the  un- 
folding. 

As  this  Christmastide  turns  our  thought  once  more 
to  that  great  event,  the  sending  forth  of  the  Son  of  God, 
"made  of  a  woman,"  I  have  thought  that  we  might 
find  a  fruitful  as  well  as  a  fitting  theme  for  our  medi- 
tation in  the  suggestion  of  a  single  phrase  in  this  far- 
reaching  utterance, — "the  fulness  of  the  time." 

These  are  pregnant  words.  They  point  to  a  prep- 
aration of  the  world  for  the  gospel,  which  must  be 
completed  even  before  the  Son  of  God  could  undertake 
his  great  work  of  redemption.  They  teach  us  that  in 
the  fulfillment  of  God's  decrees  the  element  of  timeliness 
plays  an  important  part.  In  his  delays  there  is  nothing 
arbitrary,  nothing  capricious. 

Four  thousand  years  had  passed  away  since  the  first 
proclamation  of  the  good  news  of  a  "seed  of  the 
woman"  who  should  "bruise  the  serpent's  head."     The 

153 


joy  of  Eve  over  her  first-born  was  perhaps  inspired  by 
the  belief  that  this  was  the  promised  seed  in  whom  that 
prediction  was  to  have  forthwith  its  fulfillment.  But 
alas,  if  this  was  her  hope,  how  bitter  her  disappoint- 
ment as  she  bent  over  the  body  of  the  murdered  Abel. 

When  Abraham  received  Isaac,  the  child  of  promise, 
and  with  him  such  great  and  precious  promises  of  bles- 
sing through  him  to  the  whole  world,  he  may  have 
thought  that  this  was  surely  the  promised  Redeemer  by 
whom  the  great  deliverance  should  be  wrought.  But 
God  showed  him  that  there  was  a  long,  dark  story  of 
Egyptian  bondage  which  must  intervene. 

When  Moses  led  Israel  out  of  Egypt  dividing  the 
Red  Sea  with  his  rod,  bringing  bread  from  heaven  and 
water  from  the  rock,  and  talking  with  God  face  to  face, 
as  a  man  talketh  with  his  friend,  the  nation  may  well 
have  supposed  that  now  surely  the  fulness  of  time  had 
come  and  that  this  great  leader  and  deliverer  would 
realize  for  it  all  that  had  been  promised  at  the  Fall. 

But  ere  he  ascended  to  his  lonely  grave  on  Nebo  he 
could  only  point  them  forward  to  another  Prophet  like 
unto  him  whom  at  a  late  day  God  would  raise  up,  and 
to  whom  they  were  to  hearken.  When  Israel  returned 
from  Babylon  and  under  Zerubbabel,  the  heir  of  the 
promises  made  to  David's  royal  line,  rebuilt  their  ruined 
temple  many  of  them  doubtless  looked  upon  him  as  the 
Anointed  One,  the  very  Messiah  who  was  to  come.  But 
it  was  not  yet  the  fulness  of  the  time.  This  restoration 
was  but  one  more  step  forward  in  a  long  preparation 
which  was  not  yet  complete.  Israel's  peculiar  mission 
was  not  yet  fully  performed.  The  failure  of  Gentile 
civilization,  Gentile  government,  Gentile  philosophy, 
and  Gentile  religion  was  not  yet  complete.  Five 
hundred  years  must  still  roll  away  before  the  decree 
going  forth   from   the  palace  of  Augustus  that  all  the 

154 


world  should  be  taxed,  strikes  the  hour,  and  sets  in 
motion  that  little  caravan  from  Nazareth  to  Bethlehem 
from  which  history  is  to  date  a  new  beginning  and  the 
world  to  gain  a  new  hope. 

The  preparation  implied  in  these  words,  "  the  fulness 
of  the  time,"  was  two-fold,  providential  and  moral. 

i.      Let  us  look  first  at  the  providential  preparation. 

Christianity  was  intended  for  the  world.  It  was  not 
like  the  Mosaic  dispensation,  a  religion  intended  for  a 
small  and  localized  people,  the  very  design  of  which 
was  to  keep  them  separate  and  distinct.  It  was  good 
tidings  of  great  joy  to  all  people,  a  proclamation  of  hope 
and  deliverance  for  the  race. 

We  should  naturally  expect  therefore  that  in  the 
Providence  of  God  it  would  be  introduced  into  the 
world  at  an  era  when  its  diffusion  might  be  as  speedy 
and  complete  as  possible. 

The  establishment  of  the  Roman  empire  was  the 
opening  of  such  an  era,  the  like  of  which  the  world  had 
never  before  seen.  What  steam  and  electricity  have 
been  doing  in  our  own  day  to  bring  the  ends  of  the 
earth  together  and  surmount  obstacles  to  the  comming- 
ling of  nations,  Roman  arms,  Roman  Government,  and 
Roman  roads  had  done  in  the  first  century  on  a  scale 
quite  as  surprising  in  its  advance  upon  preceding  ages. 

In  the  interest  of  that  world-empire  whose  cohesion 
and  endurance  they  well  perceived  to  depend  upon  the 
maintenance  of  the  most  perfect  facilities  of  intercom- 
munication between  the  center  and  the  remotest  parts, 
these  great  conquerors  and  road  builders  had  been 
literally,  though  unconsciously,  fulfilling  the  prophetic 
demand;  "Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord;  make 
straight  in  the  desert  a  highway  for  our  God."  From 
the  golden  milestone  of  Augustus  in  the  Roman  Forum 
radiated  a  net-work  of  imperial  highways  over  which  as 

155 


far  as  the  Danube,  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  or  the  Cata- 
racts of  the  Nile,  the  traveler  could  journey  over  well- 
built  roads,  and  find  all  along  his  route  post  stations  for 
the  change  of  horses,  and  inns  for  lodging  over  night. 
Over  these  roads  and  over  the  highways  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean made  alike  safe  by  the  protecting  hand  of  a 
strong  government  was  carried  on  a  vast  commerce, 
which  poured  the  products  of  the  whole  world  into  the 
imperial  city,  and  bore  back  to  the  remotest  provinces 
the  products  of  Roman  art,  learning,  and  civilization. 

Still  more  powerful  as  a  unifying  bond  was  the  com- 
mon law,  which  insured  to  all  the  diverse  races  compos- 
ing this  vast  organism  a  rude,  indeed,  but  uniform  and 
measurably  fair  administration  of  justice.  To  Gaul,  to 
Spaniard,  to  Greek,  to  Alexandrian,  to  Jew,  justice  was 
meted  out  under  the  same  statutes,  according  to  the 
same  forms,  and  with  the  same  sanctions. 

By  such  agencies  as  these, — roads,  commerce,  gov- 
ernment,— the  world  was  made  one  as  it  had  never  been 
one  before.  A  fusion  of  races  took  place.  Narrow 
national  prejudices  were  broken  down.  A  kind  of  cos- 
mopolitanism took  the  place  of  the  national  exclusive- 
ness  which  a  few  centuries  before  had  made  dwellers  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  same  mountain  or  the  same  lake 
regard  each  other  as  natural  enemies.  Men  of  all 
races  eagerly  availed  themselves  of  the  privilege  of 
Roman  citizenship  now  so  extensively  thrown  open,  and 
boasted  not  that  they  were  Greeks,  or  Gauls,  or  Jews 
even,  but  Romans. 

The  soldiers  recruited  by  the  thousand  from  every 
subjugated  people,  and  assigned  to  service  always  at  a 
distance  from  the  land  of  their  birth  soon  came  to  know 
no  country  but  Rome,  and  no  tie  stronger  than  their 
military  oath.  With  this  went  also  the  diffusion  of  a 
common  civilization.     Even  in  far  away  Britain  Roman 

156 


conquest  was  speedily  followed  not  only  by  Roman 
roads,  Roman  camps,  and  Roman  courts,  but  by 
Roman  towns,  Roman  dwellings,  Roman  temples, 
Roman  theatres,  and  Roman  baths. 

With  this  fusion  of  races  and  civilizations,  and  of 
more  importance  to  the  diffusion  of  Christianity  than 
these  even,  went  also  the  spread  of  a  common  language, 
not  the  Latin  (though  that  of  course  was  everywhere, 
as  the  official  language,  more  or  less  understood),  but 
Greek,  the  language  of  letters,  the  speech  of  that  more 
graceful,  more  finished  civilization  to  which  even  in  the 
hour  of  her  triumph  the  rude  soldier  nation  had  bowed 
in  homage  and  which  it  became  her  ambition  to  copy 
and  transplant.  What  French  once  was  to  modern 
Europe,  Greek  was  in  the  days  of  the  apostles  to  the 
civilized  world.  Whoever  could  speak  it  could  count 
upon  making  himself  understood  in  any  city  of  the 
Empire,  in  Europe,  Asia  or  Africa.  Not  since  the  dis- 
persion of  Babel  had  the  world  come  so  near  to  being 
of  one  speech. 

There  is  yet  one  more  element  to  be  considered  in 
the  providential  preparation,  viz.,  the  dispersion  of  the 
Jewish  people,  following  with  the  instincts  of  their  race 
in  the  track  of  commerce,  not  only  of  Rome  itself  the 
great  heart  of  the  world  of  trade,  but  to  the  remotest 
ramifications  of  that  vast  system,  so  that  the  geographer 
Strabo  declared:  "It  is  not  easy  to  find  a  place  in  the 
habitable  world  which  has  not  received  this  race  and  is 
not  possessed  by  it."  Wherever  they  went  they  chal- 
lenged attention  by  their  peculiarities,  their  separate- 
ness,  by  such  things  as  their  scruples  in  regard  to  food 
and  their  Sabbath  rest.  And  everywhere  they  carried 
with  them  two  things,  the  synagogue  with  its  worship  of 
an  unseen  deity,  and  the  Greek  Scriptures  of  the  Old 
Testament,    thus   bearing   their  witness  in   the   face  of 

157 


heathenism,  the  world  over,  to  the  spirituality  of  the 
one  living  God,  the  holiness  of  his  law,  and  the  promise 
of  a  coming  redemption,  and  supplying  the  heralds  of 
the  gospel  wherever  they  went  with  a  place  in  which  to 
begin  their  preaching,  and  a  written  word  on  which  to 
base  their  announcement  of  God's  promise  fulfilled  and 
redemption  accomplished. 

Thus  the  three  great  nations  of  antiquity  were  each 
of  them  in  the  all-comprehending  plan  of  God  tributary 
to  the  world's  preparation  for  the  gospel.  Not  till 
Roman  law,  Greek  letters,  and  Jewish  Religion  had 
gained  in  some  sense  a  world-wide  diffusion,  was  it 
"  the  fulness  of  time  "  for  "  the  desire  of  all  nations  "  to 
appear. 

Then  how  swiftly  did  the  bearers  of  glad  tidings, 
under  the  sheltering  wings  of  the  imperial  eagles,  fly 
over  those  roads  built  for  far  other  conquests,  seeking 
out  the  synagogues  of  the  Jews  and  there  proclaiming 
in  the  Greek  tongue  to  Jews,  proselytes,  and  heathen, 
"Christ,  the  power  of  God  and  the  wisdom  of  God." 

2.  But  side  by  side  with  this  providential  prepara- 
tion there  had  been  going  on  a  moral  preparation  for  the 
gospel,  not  less  necessary,  and  "the  fulness  of  the 
time  "  implies  the  completeness  of  this  preparation  also. 
Indeed  it  is  this  to  which  this  phrase  of  the  apostle 
more  immediately  refers,  as  we  see  from  the  context  in 
which  he  pictures  man  until  the  coming  of  Christ  as  a 
child  in  his  minority,  subjected  to  a  strict  preparatory 
discipline,  not  trusted  as  yet  with  the  privileges  of  son- 
ship  because  the  fulness  of  time,  i.  e.,  the  maturity 
which  should  fit  him  for  them  has  not  yet  come. 

This  moral  preparation  aimed  chiefly  at  the  devel- 
oping of  that  profound  sense  of  need  without  which 
redemption  would  have  been  offered  in  vain.     This  end 


158 


was  reached  along  two  lines,  a  positive  and  negative,  a 
a  divine  and  a  human. 

God  himself  took  one  chosen  people  in  hand,  and  by 
the  message  of  his  prophets,  line  upon  line,  precept 
upon  precept,— and  still  more  sharply  by  his  own 
dealings  with  them  in  their  long  history  taught  them 
the  two  great  lessons  of  his  own  majesty  and  holiness 
and  of  the  guilt  and  the  desert  of  sin,  so  constraining 
them  to  feel  their  need  of  a  Savior  who  should  free 
them  from  the  curse  of  a  broken  law  and  reconcile  them 
to  a  holy  God. 

Meantime  he  left  the  rest  of  mankind  in  great 
measure  to  themselves,  to  learn  by  the  utter  failure  of 
all  their  efforts  to  improve  themselves  or  to  stay  the 
downward  movement  toward  chaos  and  ruin,  the  same 
great  lesson  of  helplessness  and  need.  When  this  two- 
fold training  was  complete,  and  not  till  then,  God  sent 
forth  his  Son.  So  far  as  the  human  side  was  concerned, 
it  would  be  hardly  possible  for  human  helplessness  to 
receive  a  more  convincing  demonstration,  or  human 
despair  to  reach  a  deeper  depth  than  in  the  gilded  de- 
bauchery and  splendid  misery  of  imperial  Rome.  There 
was  no  human  agency  for  uplifting  the  race  that  had  not 
been  already  tried  and  proved  a  failure. 

a.  Government,  political  institutions,  had  been 
tried;  and  these  had  failed.  The  brilliant  political  his- 
tory of  Greece  had  ended  in  effeminacy  and  subjugation 
to  a  foreign  yoke.  The  vigorous  organization  of  repub- 
lican Rome  had  given  it  the  mastery  of  the  world  but 
could  not  give  it  the  mastery  of  itself  nor  save  it  from 
issuing  in  the  wreck  of  the  civil  wars  and  the  servile 
cringing  at  last  of  a  race  of  free  men  at  the  feet  of  a 
despot,  who  himself  found  even  imperial  authority,  put 
forth  in  statute,  after  statute,  powerless  to  check  the 
growing  corruptions  of  the  time. 

159 


b.  Civilization  had  been  tried;  and  that  had  failed. 
In  a  form  of  consummate  grace  and  perfection  it  had 
gone  from  Greece,  and  in  the  track  of  the  Roman 
legions  had  overspread  the  world.  Yet  as  civilization 
advanced,  corruption  kept  pace  with  it;  and  elegance  of 
life  and  refinement  of  manners  proved  but  a  surface 
adornment,  which,  like  the  iridescent  film  upon  a  stag- 
nant pool,  did  but  overspread  a  depth  of  putrescence 
which  it  could  neither  heal  nor  hide. 

In  Rome  itself,  the  center  of  civilization,  a  state  of 
morals  had  been  reached  of  which  a  Seneca  draws  this 
picture:  "Daily  the  lust  of  sin  increases;  daily  the 
sense  of  shame  diminishes.  Casting  away  all  regard 
for  what  is  good  and  honorable,  pleasure  runs  riot  with- 
out restraint.  Vice  no  longer  hides  itself,  it  stalks  forth 
before  all  eyes.  So  public  has  iniquity  become,  so 
mightily  does  it  flame  up  in  all  hearts,  that  innocence 
is  no  longer  rare;  it  has  ceased  to  exist." 

Gone  were  the  ancient  simplicity,  the  ancient  in- 
dustry, the  ancient  pure  and  sweet  domestic  life. 
Marriage  was  despised,  family  life  abhorred  as  a  bur- 
den, divorce  an  every  day  occurrence;  the  life  of  the 
rich  was  passed  in  inane  luxury  and  empty  frivolity, 
the  poor  clamored  only  for  "bread  and  shows,"  and  all 
classes  wallowed  in  a  lewdness  that  forbids  description. 

c.  Human  religions  had  been  tried,  and  these  had 
failed.  The  immoral  gods  and  goddesses  of  the  old 
mythology  had  no  restraining  power  over  the  conscience 
and  were  fast  losing  their  hold  upon  the  belief  of  their 
worshipers.  Yet  though  the  world  has  been  ransacked 
for  new  ones  none  have  been  found  to  take  their  place. 
The  sacred  rites  are  kept  up  as  a  matter  of  public  policy 
by  men  who  laugh  in  their  sleeve  while  they  perform 
them;  and  the  people  betake  themselves  to  the  temples 
there  to  learn,  in  the  impure  orgies  performed  as  an  act 

160 


of  worship,  acceptable  to  the  gods,  new  lessons  in  vice. 
Till  of  the  moral  outcome  of  it  all  the  Holy  Ghost  has 
given  the  dark  but  sober  picture  in  that  terrible  first 
chapter  of  Paul's  letter  to  the  Romans,  every  line  of 
which  its  readers  could  of  their  own  knowledge  abun- 
dantly confirm. 

d.  As  the  power  of  religion  waned,  philosophy  was 
tried.  But  for  the  deep-seated  moral  hurt  of  the  world, 
wherewith  the  whole  head  was  sick  and  the  whole  heart 
faint,  it  had  no  remedy  but  words,  words,  empty  words. 
It  could  preach,  but  it  could  not  practice,  still  less 
teach  others  to  practice. 

The  same  Seneca  whose  precepts  sometimes  remind 
us  of  the  apostle  Paul,  was  openly  accused  of  adultery 
and  unquestionably  initiated  his  imperial  pupil  Nero 
into  the  vilest  sins.  Writing  in  praise  of  Poverty  he 
amassed  an  enormous  fortune  and  had  in  his  house  five 
hundred  tables  of  citrus  wood  some  of  them  worth  as 
much  as  twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  Inculcating  in 
his  essays  clemency  and  truth,  he  connived  at  the 
atrocities  of  Nero,  and  wrote  for  him  the  lying  defense 
with  which  he  pretended  to  justify  to  the  Senate  his 
cold-blooded  murder  of  his  mother. 

In  the  face  of  life's  mysteries  and  under  the  burden 
of  its  sorrow  it  offered  through  the  calm  lips  of  a  Pliny 
such  cold  comfort  as  this:  "There  is  nothing  certain 
save  that  nothing  is  certain.  The  best  thing  which  has 
been  given  to  man  amid  the  many  torments  of  this  life 
is,  that  he  can  take  his  own  life."  That  indeed  was  the 
last  crowning  word  of  philosophy,  its  panacea  for  all 
ills:  "If  life  is  too  much  for  you,  the  way  out  of  it  is 
before  you." 

In  the  face  of  this  fourfold  failure,  of  government,  of 
civilization,  of  religion  as  they  knew  it,  and  of  philoso- 
phy to  make  the  world  better  or  to  keep  it  from  growing 

161 


worse  an  awful  despair  had  begun  to  settle  down  upon 
the  heathen  world;  a  despair  which  in  thoughtful  minds 
found  utterance  in  a  gloomy  pessimism  which  pro- 
claimed existence  itself  a  mockery,  and  in  the  unthink- 
ing multitude  dumbly  wrought  itself  out  in  sheer  reck- 
lessness of  living. 

Out  of  this  despair  grew  a  dim  longing  for  redemp- 
tion. Men's  minds  turned  to  that  mysterious  Orient  out 
of  which  so  many  strange  things  had  come  and  whence 
were  heard  hints  and  presages  of  some  expected  de- 
liverance. 

Even  the  Scriptures  of  the  despised  Jew  began  to  be 
regarded  with  curious  interest  for  their  promise  of  a 
Messiah,  and  the  prophecies  of  Isaiah  find  a  strange 
echo  in  the  poems  of  a  Virgil. 

On  the  other  hand  the  divine  preparation  was  also 
complete.  The  Mosaic  dispensation  had  done  its  work 
for  Israel  and  for  the  world.  The  revelation  of  law  was 
complete.  Nothing  now  was  left  for  those  who  had 
learned  its  lessons,  but  to  wait  for  the  "consolation  of 
Israel." 

The  whole  Old  Testament,  both  as  law  and  pro- 
phecy, was  condensed  into  the  mighty  proclamation 
with  which  John  the  Baptist,  last  and  greatest  of  the 
prophets,  shook  the  nation:  "Repent;  for  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  at  hand." 

There  remained  nothing  more,  nothing  higher  to  be 
said,  till,  pointing  to  Jesus  as  he  walked,  he  could  ex- 
claim: "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away 
the  sin  of  the  world." 

As  a  witness  to  the  heathen  world,  too,  Israel's  mis- 
sion was  fulfilled.  Its  testimony  against  idolatry  had, 
as  we  have  seen,  been  carried  throughout  the  world. 
Beyond  that  it  could  not  go.  It  could  rebuke;  but  it 
could    not   convert.     There    was    no   world-conquering 

162 


power,  no  world-embracing  universality  in  Judaism.  It 
had  met  the  dim  groping  of  heathenism  for  a  redemp- 
tion with  the  divine  promise  of  a  Redeemer;  but  the 
connecting  link  was  still  wanting.  Then  it  was,  in  that 
fulness  of  time,  when  heathen  despair  had  reached  its 
darkest  depth,  and  Israel's  longing  its  greatest  inten- 
sity, that  God  sent  forth  his  Son.  And  as  the  heralds 
of  salvation  went  everywhere  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  that  world-empire  telling  the  story  of  that  in- 
carnate, crucified,  risen  Redeemer,  the  Son  of  God,  yet 
born  of  a  woman,  who  had  come  into  the  world  that  he 
might  bear  witness  to  the  truth,  who  had  borne  its  sins 
in  his  own  body  on  the  tree,  and  who  had  risen  from  the 
tomb,  that,  triumphant  over  the  last  enemy,  he  might, 
to  as  many  as  received  him,  give  eternal  life,  they  gave 
to  a  world  weary  of  its  old  gods  and  incredulously  ask- 
ing: What  is  truth?  a  new  faith  to  a  world  in  despair 
of  the  future,  whether  for  this  life  or  the  life  to  come, 
a  new  hope;  to  a  world  exhausted  in  its  own  fruitless 
struggles,  a  new  power. 

My  friend,  whatever  you  think  of  Christ,  whatever 
you  do  with  him  personally,  you  owe  as  a  modern  man, 
as  an  American  man,  an  unspeakable  debt  to  that  event 
which  this  day  commemorates.  This  world  is  a  different 
world  to-day;  above  all  is  this  land  a  different  land 
to-day  from  what  it  would  or  could  have  been  had  there 
not  been  born  in  Bethlehem  of  Judea  a^  Savior,  who  is 
Christ  the  Lord. 

Yet  the  blessing  which  thus  comes  to  you  through 
Christ's  influence  upon  the  world,  through  the  new 
direction  he  has  given  to  the  currents  of  human  history 
is  as  nothing  to  the  blessing  which  will  come  to  you  if 
Christ  shall  be  born  in  your  own  soul.  Has  he  been 
born  there?  For  that,  too,  there  must  be,  in  some 
sense,  a  "fulness  of  the  time."     Christ  will  never  be 

163 


born  in  your  heart,  he  will  never  bring  to  you  the 
unspeakable  blessing  of  a  personal  redemption  and  a 
personal  sonship  to  God,  till  in  the  depths  of  your  soul 
you  have  felt  your  need  of  him,  till  the  emptiness  of  life, 
the  uncertainty  of  the  future,  the  failure  of  your  en- 
deavors or  the  burden  of  your  sins  have  driven  you  to 
cry  out  for  help  from  above. 

You  have  been  tossing  perhaps  these  many  years  on 
a  sea  of  doubt  and  unbelief,  where  neither  sun  nor 
star  has  in  many  days  appeared.  Have  you  not  drifted 
far  enough?  Is  it  not  the  fulness  of  the  time  for  you  to 
receive  on  board  the  pilot  who  will  guide  your  soul  into 
the  sure  haven  of  a  steadfast  faith? 

You  are  growing  old.  You  have  led  a  busy  life  and 
played  a  part  not  unimportant  in  human  affairs.  But 
you  realize  that  each  year  that  part  grows  less.  You 
feel  that  ■  you  are  being  crowded  off  the  stage  by  a 
younger  generation.  And  before  you  all  is  uncertainty. 
You  can  look  forward  to  no  new  and  higher  work  await- 
ing you,  to  no  certain  and  lasting  fruition  of  your  life's 
labors.  Is  it  not  the  fulness  of  the  time  for  you  to 
receive  into  your  soul  Him  who  said:  "I  am  the 
Resurrection  and  the  Life.  *  *  *  He  that  believeth  in 
me  shall  never  die." 

You  are  saddened  in  these  closing  days  of  the  year 
by  the  memory  of  temptation,  yielded  to,  high  purposes 
unfulfilled,  and  by  a  sad  consciousness  of  moral  failure. 
Is  it  not  the  fulness  of  the  time  for  you  to  receive  into 
your  soul  one  who  can  change  defeat  into  victory,  and 
who  having  begun  a  good  work  in  you  will  not  abandon 
it  till  he  shall  present  you  faultless  before  the  throne  of 
his  Father. 

Oh,  if  my  voice  reaches  to-day  one  hopeless,  despair- 
ing sinner,  who  has  lost  all  faith  in  his  own  goodness 
and  all  satisfaction  in  the  pleasures  of  sin,  I  say  to  such 

164 


a  one,  Take  heart!  Your  very  despair  is  a  sign  of 
encouragement,  for  this  is  the  very  fulness  of  the  time 
for  God's  salvation  to  come  to  you. 


165 


THE  GENEALOGY  OF  SIN. 

Let  no  man  say  token  he  is  tempted,  I  am  tempted  of  God  : 
for  God  cannot  be  tempted  with  evil,  neither  tempteth  he  any 
man.  But  every  man  is  tempted  when  he  is  drawn  away  of 
his  own  lust  and  enticed.  Then  when  lust  hath  conceived  it 
bringeth  forth  sin,  and  sin,  when  it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth 
death. — Jas.  1:13-15. 

The  transition  from  the  immediately  preceding  verse 
to  these  which  are  now  before  us  is  sudden  and  start- 
ling : 

"  Blessed  is  the  man  that  endureth  temptation  for 
when  he  is  tried  he  shall  receive  a  crown  of  life,  which 
the  Lord  hath  promised  to  them  that  love  him."  "Let 
no  man  say,  when  he  is  tempted,  I  am  tempted  of  God  ; 
for  God  cannot  be  tempted  with  evil,  neither  tempteth 
he  any  man." 

It  is  manifest  that  there  has  been  a  transition  in  the 
apostle's  mind  not  only  from  one  aspect  of  temptation  to 
another,  but  from  one  class  of  readers  to  another. 

Temptation  has  two  sides,  a  good  and  a  bad  side. 
Viewed  from  one  side  it  is  a  test  of  character,  a  whole- 
some discipline,  leading  to  glorious  and  everlasting  re- 
sults. 

It  is  this  which  warrants  these  congratulatory  words  : 
"  Count  it  all  joy  when  ye  fall  into  divers  temptations." 

Viewed  from  another  side,  it  is  a  seduction  to  evil, 
which,  if  yielded  to  may  issue  in  fatal  consequences. 
Which  of  these  shall  be  the  practical  side  depends  upon 
how  it  is  met.     Too  often  in  our  own  experience,  as  well 

166 


as  that  of  others,  we  have  found  it  passing  over  from 
the  former  to  the  latter,  and  issuing  in  sin,  by  which 
character  is  broken  down  instead  of  matured. 

Too  many  of  his  readers,  James  well  knew  as  they 
read  these  words  :  "  Blessed  is  the  man  that  endureth 
temptation  "  would  be  forced  to  say  :  "That  blessing  is 
not  for  me — I  have  not  endured ;  I  have  miserably 
yielded.  How  comes  it  so?  is  the  question  he  now  turns 
to  answer,  and  in  answering  it  he  traces  in  striking  met- 
aphor what  may  be  called  the  Genealogy  of  Sin.  Shall 
those  who  failed  to  meet  the  test  take  warrant  from  this 
view  of  temptation  as  God's  appointed  discipline  to 
throw  upon  Him  the  blame  of  their  failure,  who  placed 
them  in  such  circumstances  and  exposed  them  to  such 
dangers  ?  Never  !  To  every  such  fallen  one  he  cries  : 
Beware  how  you  blaspheme  a  holy  God  by  making  him 
responsible  for  sins  which  are  your  own  act,  prompted 
by  your  own  lusts,  committed  of  your  own  will,  and 
bringing  forth  their  own  fruit  in  a  death  which  is  your 
own  work. 

The  answer  covers  the  whole  ground.  It  tells  us 
where  the  whole  fault  does  not  lie,  and  where  it  does. 
It  forbids  us  to  put  the  responsibility  of  our  own  defeat 
upon  God,  and  fixes  it  where  it  belongs — upon  our- 
selves. 

i.  It  forbids  us  to  put  the  responsibility  upon  God. 
With  temptation  considered  as  seduction,  as  solicitation 
to  evil,  God  has  nothing  to  do.  He  cannot  have  ;  for 
he  is  a  holy  God.  There  is  in  his  being  no  sympathy 
with  evil  in  any  form.  Too  holy  to  feel  its  seduction 
himself,  much  more  is  he  too  holy  to  become  the  seducer 
of  others. 

It  is  natural  to  us  all  to  make  excuses  for  sin.  We 
seek  to  shift  the  responsibility  upon  some  one  else. 
When  the  first  man  sinned,  he  laid  the  blame  upon  the 

1G7 


woman  ;  and  the  woman  in  her  turn  laid  it  upon  the* 
serpent.  So  we  all  pass  on  responsibility  from  hand  to 
hand,  laying  the  blame  sometimes  on  our  fellow  men, 
sometimes  on  our  parents, — on  "  that  rash  humor  which 
our"  mothers  "  gave  "  us,-^but  with  a  constant  tendency 
to  throw  it  back  at  last,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
upon  God.  Practically,  there  is  where  in  the  end  it 
must  fall,  if  we  throw  it  off  ourselves.  One  of  Presi- 
dent Finney's  most  powerful  sermons  is  upon  this  theme: 
"The  excuses  of  sinners  condemn  God,"  in  which,  tak- 
ing up  one  after  another  some  score  of  the  favorite  ex- 
cuses of  sinners,  he  shows  how  each  in  one  way  or  an- 
other, really  puts  the  blame  upon  God.  We  should  all 
be  only  too  glad  thus  to  fix  the  responsibility  upon  our 
Maker  if  we  could,  for  then  sin  would  cease  to  be  sin. 
Then  we  should  have  a  plea  which  we  could  boldly  take 
to  the  bar  of  last  account  and  face  with  it  the  Judge 
upon  his  throne. 

It  is  not  surprising  therefore  that  human  ingenuity 
should  exhaust  itself  in  attempts  to  do   this  very  thing. 

Sometimes  this  is  done  under  the  learned  guise  of  a 
false  philosophy.  This  is  the  secret  fascination  of  some 
of  the  forms  of  error  which  have  maintained  the  most 
powerful  hold  upon  the  minds  of  men.  So  it  is  e.  g. 
with  that  subtle  form  of  thought  called  pantheism, 
which  has  shown  such  marvelous  vitality,  which  under- 
lies some  of  the  most  powerful  forms  of  heathenism,  an- 
cient and  modern,  and  which  is  trying  just  now  to  make 
good  for  itself  a  place  in  the  Christian  church.  For  in 
making  man  himself  a  part  of  God,  this  system  fixes 
upon  God  the  responsibility  of  all  man's  acts,  and  so 
destroys  the  distinction  between  good  and  evil,  saying 
virtually  :  There  is  no  evil.  What  seems  so  is  but  the 
shadow  of  good.  So  the  modern  materialism,  boldly 
advocated  by  some  of  the  present  leaders  in  the  world  of 

168 


science,  which  teaches  that  man  is  essentially  an  autom- 
aton, that  thought  and  will  are  but  secretions  of  the 
brain,  whose  character  is  determined  by  the  brain's 
structure  and  fibre,  clearly  throws  back  the  only  respon- 
sibility for  which  it  leaves  room,  upon  the  Maker  of  the 
automaton. 

The  doctrine  of  moral  evolution  held  by  so  many  as 
a  natural  sequence  of  the  doctrine  of  physical  evolution, 
teaching  as  it  does  that  sin,  not  simply  temptation,  is  a 
necessary  step  of  progress, — the  stumbling  by  which  a 
child  learns  to  walk, — that,  as  it  is  sometimes  put,  "  the 
fall  of  man  was  a  fall  upward,"  puts  all  the  responsibility 
upon  God,  who  has  ordained  such  a  mode   of  progress. 

With  others  the  Scripture  itself  is  wrested  to  this 
end.  Perhaps  it  is  the  mystery  of  foreordination  behind 
which  the  guilty  conscience  seeks  to  shield  itself.  "  It 
was  decreed.  What  could  I  do  ?  "  Or,  as  the  apostle 
quotes  the  same  excuse  in  his  day  :  "  Why  doth  He  yet 
find  fault  ;  for  who  hath  resisted  his  will  ?  " 

Or  it  is  God's  providence  on  which  we  lay  the 
blame.  Whenever  we  lay  the  blame  of  our  sin  upon 
circumstances,  we  virtually  lay  it  upon  the  Providence 
which  ordered  those  circumstances.  So  Adam  hinted  at 
a  responsibility  lying  back  of  the  woman's,  when  he 
said  :  "The  woman  that  thou  gavcst  to  be  with  me, 
she  gave  me  of  the  tree,  and  I  did  eat." 

When  we  say  as  we  often  do:  "I  could  not  help  it  ; 
in  the  circumstances  in  which  I  was  placed,  I  had  to  do 
it"  what  is  that  but  to  lay  the  blame  upon  Him  who 
placed  us  there  ? 

Or  we  charge  all  to  the  constitution  which  God  gave 
us.      So  Burns  sang  : 

''Thou  knowest  that  thou  hast  made  me 
With  passions  wild  and  strong, 
And  listening  to  their  witching  voice 
Has  often  led  me  wrong." 
169 


Or  we  blame  God  for  not  surrounding  us  with  greater 
restraining  influences  ;  like  the  rich  man  in  the  parable, 
who,  in  pleading  that  Lazarus  be  sent  to  warn  his  breth- 
ren, virtually  accused  God  of  allowing  him  to  perish  for 
lack  of  timely  warning. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  ways  in  which  we  seek  to 
throw  upon  God  the  responsibility  of  our  failures  to 
overcome  temptation.  To  all  such  pleas  the  earnest, 
practical  James  has  one  simple  answer,  a  sweeping 
denial,  and  one  conclusive  argument  ;  God  is  a  holy 
God.  Here  is  no  philosophizing  over  the  problem  of 
God's  government,  no  recondite  speculation  upon  the 
origin  of  evil,  no  metaphysical  hair-splitting  concerning 
fixed  fate,  free  will,  '  'fore  knowledge  absolute, "  but  simply 
the  direct  appeal  to  conscience:  "Beware  how  you  at- 
tempt to  make  a  holy  God  an  accomplice  in  your  guilt." 
It  is  sufficient.  An  aroused  conscience  instantly  owns 
the  conclusiveness  of  the  answer,  and  the  fitness  of  the 
rebuke. 

2.  Having  thus  seen  where  the  fault  does  not  lie 
we  are  next  shown  where  it  does  lie.  "  Every  man  is 
tempted  when  he  is  drawn  away  of  his  own  lust  and  en- 
ticed." The  aim  of  the  writer  here  is  still  intensely 
practical.  Therefore  he  does  not  concern  himself  at  all 
with  the  theological  question,  how  sin  first  entered  the 
world.  There  is  nothing  here  about  the  fall  of  the  race. 
It  is  your  fall  and  mine,  which  he  is  accounting  for.  Nor 
does  he  ever  bring  in  the  agency  of  Satan,  real  as  that 
agency  is;  because  he  is  seeking  to  fix  attention  upon 
that  sinful  inclination  within,  to  which  the  tempter  him- 
self makes  his  successful  appeal,  and  without  which  he 
would  tempt  in  vain. 

a.  Every  man  is  tempted  when  he  is  drawn  away  of  his 
own  lust.  I  hardly  need  to  remind  you  that  lust  is  used 
here,  not  in  its  narrow  sense,  of  sensual  desire,  but  in  its 

170 


broad  sense,  of  every  form  of  sinful  inclination.  This  is 
what  gives  temptation  its  hold  upon  us.  The  enemy 
without  would  never  compel  a  surrender,  did  not  the 
traitor  within  the  bosom  open  the  gates.  The  scent  of 
carrion  which  is  abhorrent  to  a  dove,  is  sweet  to  a  vul- 
ture. Their  nature  makes  the  difference.  A  holy  soul 
might  be  tempted,  but  in  a  different  way  from  that  in 
which  you  and  I  are  tempted.  When  it  is  said  that 
Christ  himself  was  tempted  in  all  points  like  as  we  are, 
it  is  not  meant  that  he  was  tempted  in  the  same  way  that 
we  are.  The  outward  temptation  is  there,  but  not  the 
inward  lust. 

b.  But  this  is  not  the  beginning.  This  secret  in- 
clination to  evil,  while  it  gives  to  temptation  its  sinister 
side,  is  not  yet  sin  in  the  full  sense  of  voluntary,  respon- 
sible transgression.  To  this  something  more  is  neces- 
sary, viz:  the  consent  of  the  will.  "Every  man  is 
tempted  when  he  is  drawn  away  of  his  own  lust  and 
enticed.  Then,  when  lust  hath  conceived  it  bringeth  forth 
sin."  The  strong,  albeit  repulsive,  image  in  the  apostle's 
mind  is  that  of  a  man  yielding  to  the  embrace  of  a 
wanton.  The  regal  self-governing  power  listens  to  the 
enticing  voice  of  lust  and  from  this  unhallowed  union  of 
will  and  lust  there  is  begotten  that  loathsome  offspring, 
sin. 

See  how  these  steps  are  illustrated  in  the  confession 
of  Achan  (as  you  will  find  it  Josh.  7:  20-21).  "And 
Achan  answered  Joshua  and  said  :  Behold  I  have  sinned 
against  the  Lord  God  of  Israel.  .  .  .  When  I  saw 
among  the  spoils  a  goodly  Babylonish  garment  and  two 
hundred  shekels  of  silver,  and  a  wedge  of  gold  of  fifty 
shekels'  weight,  then  I  coveted  them  and  took  them." 
"I  saw  ";  there  is  temptation  on  its  providential  side, 
the  outward  occasion  which  tested  the  man.  "I  cov- 
eted "  ;  there  is   temptation   on    its    seductive  side,    the 

171 


inward  lust  of  covetousness,  roused  into  activity  by  the 
outward  occasion  and  alluring,  enticing  toward  the  for- 
bidden treasure.  "  I  took  "  ;  there  finally  is  the  consent 
to  the  enticement  of   lust,  issuing  in  transgression. 

c.  But  we  have  not  done  yet  with  this  terrible  gene- 
alogy. Sin  which  is  the  child  of  lust,  becomes  in  its 
turn  a  parent.  Sin  when  it  is  finished,  when  it  is  full 
grown — "  bringeth  forth  death." — There  is  something 
startling  in  that  expression:  "  Sin,  when  it  is  finished." 
There  is  a  parallel,  which  cannot  have  been  undesigned, 
with  the  foregoing  :  "  When  he  is  ^ried  he  shall  receive 
a  crown  of  life."  Evil,  like  goodness,  has  its  maturity, 
its  consummation.  Character  is  never  stationary.  There 
is  a  law  of  growth  in  sin  as  in  holiness.  At  first  sin 
seems  like  an  infant,  harmless  in  appearance,  almost 
winsome  perhaps,  easly  managed.  But  it  soon  becomes 
a  full-grown  master.  See  how  the  lust  of  covetousness 
in  Judas  issued  first  in  petty  thefts,  which  doubtless 
seemed  to  him  of  very  small  account,  easily  concealed, 
easily  forgotten,  but  soon  that  little  sin  grew  to  the 
greater  sins  of  conspiracy,  treachery,  murder  and  suicide. 
So  Cain's  lust  of  envy,  when  it  had  conceived,  brought 
forth  the  sin  of  anger,  and  that  sin  was  soon  finished  in 
murder. 

"Sin,  when  it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth  death." 
Here  is  no  hint  of  any  joint  parentage.  This  final  issue 
is  something  with  which  our  consent  has  nothing  to  do. 
Lust  conceives  by  the  consent  of  the  will.  But  sin 
brings  forth  its  issue  alone.  When  it  has  reached  its 
maturity,  it  issues  in  death  by  a  law  which  works  inde- 
pendently of  us. 

There  is  an  Oriental  fable  which  relates  that  the 
devil  once  asked  permission  to  kiss  a  certain  king  upon 
his  shoulders.  The  king  consented  and  straightway  from 
either  shoulder  sprang  up  a  serpent  which   fastened   its 

172 


fangs  in  his  brain.  So  it  is  with  ns.  We  consent  to  it 
at  first  because  we  think  it  a  little  thing,  almost  or  quite 
harmless.  And  lo  !  it  leaps  to  life  a  full-grown  serpent, 
and  slays  us  with  its  venom. 

These  words  recall  the  words  of  Paul  :  "  The  wages 
of  sin  is  death."  But  they  recall  them  with  a  difference. 
Wages  are  earned.  They  point  to  a  trial  of  some  sort,  or 
an  award.  Paul's  figure  then  suggests  judicial  penalty. 
But  this  of  James  suggests  natural  consequence.  Death 
is  what  sin  issues  in  by  its  own  nature.  The  two  are  not 
in  conflict.  The  sentence  of  death  is  indeed  God's,  but 
nature  is  made  the  executioner.  Under  God's  govern- 
ment things  are  so  arranged,  in  other  words,  that  sin 
punishes  itself.      It  brings  forth  its  penalty. 

O  that  men  would  learn  that  sin,  when  it  has  run  its 
course,  brings  forth  death  as  naturally,  as  surely,  as  in- 
evitably as  fire  brings  forth  heat,  or  as  the  sunrise  brings 
the  day.  If  we  could  get  this  view  of  penalty  as  the 
natural  consequence  of  sin,  rather  than  an  arbitrary  sen- 
tence imposed  like  a  fine  or  imprisonment,  at  the  pleasure 
of  the  Judge,  we  should  be  less  easily  deluded  with  hopes 
of  somehow  evading  the  penalty  while  indulging  the  sin. 

"Sin,  when  it  is  finished  bringeth  forth  death." 
But  the  death  too,  like  the  sin,  is  progressive. 

You  remember  the  melancholy  words  of  Dean 
Swift,  when,  pointing  to  a  tree  whose  upper  branches 
were  leafless  and  dry,  he  said  :  "I  shall  be  like  that 
tree  ;  I  shall  die  at  the  top  " — words  sadly  verified  in  the 
mental  decay  which  made  his  closing  years  a  blank. 
The  sinner  too  dies  "  at  the  top."  His  death  is  first  of 
all  a  spiritual  death,  the  death  of  his  higher  nature,  the 
death  of  his  nobler  impulses  and  aspirations.  First  it 
is  his  godward  faculties, — that  side  of  his  being  through 
which  he  has  fellowship  with  the  unseen,  which  dies, 
then  the  nobler  human  affections.      See  how  the   degra- 

173 


dation  of  these  is  portrayed  in  that  terrible  first  chapter 
of  Paul's  letter  to  the  Romans.  There  bodily  decay  and 
physical  death  coming  as  the  direct  manifest  result  of 
intemperance,  of  lust,  or  of  other  forms  of  "finished" 
sin.  Then,  last  of  all,  comes  eternal  death,  the  second 
death,  the  casting  of  soul  and  body  into  hell.  And  this 
too  is  just  as  truly  natural  consequence  as  spiritual  death 
and  physical  death.  There  are  few  more  significant  ex- 
pressions in  Scripture  bearing  upon  that  awful  mystery 
than  Peter's  word  concerning  Judas,  "that  he  might  go 
to  his  own  place," — his  own  place, — the  place  to  which 
his  affinities  draw  him.  Vice,  even  in  this  world,  seeks 
its  own  level.  You  do  not  find  the  hardened  debauchee, 
when  free  to  choose  his  own  surroundings,  seeking  the 
house  of  God,  or  the  happy  fireside  of  the  Christian 
household.  He  chooses  rather  the  saloon  and  the 
brothel.  He  is  more  at  home  there.  So  in  the  world  to 
come  the  sinner  will  sink  to  his  own  level.  His  sur- 
roundings will  shape  themselves  to  his  nature.  "Sin 
when  it  is  finished  bringeth  forth  death." 

Here  you  have  a  descending  ladder  with  its  three 
steps  corresponding  exactly  to  that  ascending  ladder, 
whose  upward  steps  have  been  indicated  in  the  previous 
verses.  These  steps  were  :  Temptation  resisted  ; 
character  perfected  ;  a  crown  of  life.  These  are,  tem- 
tation  yielded  to  ;  sin  finished  ;  death. 

At  the  head  of  that  ascending  ladder, — as  of  that 
which  Jacob  saw  in  his  vision, — stands  God,  our  Father, 
reaching  out  his  hand  to  all  who  will  lay  hold  of  it  to  help 
them  safely  up.  But  if  you  take  the  downward  road  you 
take  it  alone.  That  hand  does  not  thrust  you  down, 
and  the  ruin  in  which  it  ends  will  be  your  own  work. 
To-day  I  write  opposite  your  name,  my  hearer,  the  word 
temptation.  Not  one  name  in  this  company  against 
which  must  not  stand  that  solemn  word.      But  what   am 

174 


I  to  write  after  it, — yielded  to  ?  Or  resisted  ?  a  step 
up  or  a  step  down, — which  shall  it  be  ?  Has  the  step 
down  been  already  taken  ?  Has  lust  already  conceived 
and  brought  forth  ?  Then  make  haste  to  slay  thy  sin, 
ere  thy  sin,  full-grown,  slay  thee.  Some  one  has  said  : 
"  The  life  of  sin  and  the  life  of  the  sinner  are  like  two 
buckets  in  a  well,  if  one  goes  up,  the  other  must  go 
down.  When  sin  liveth,  the  sinner  must  die."  But 
make  haste  !  make  haste  !  You  have  not  a  moment  to 
lose.  Every  hour  that  you  hesitate,  sin  is  gaining 
strength  ;  to  break  away  is  becoming  harder  ;  and  you 
know  not  when  the  last  fatal  blow  will  be  struck. 

It  is  related  by  a  French  writer,  that  the  captain  of 
a  vessel  was  one  day  walking  carlessly  along  a  river's 
mouth  at  low  water.  As  he  looked  about  him,  not 
minding  his  steps,  he  did  not  notice  a  great  chain 
stretched  on  the  ground  before  him,  one  end  of  which 
was  fastened  to  a  ring  in  a  stone  on  the  bank,  the  other 
to  an  anchor  sunk  in  the  river.  Not  seeing  it  he 
stumbled  against  it,  and  his  foot  passing  through  one  of 
the  links,  he  could  not  draw  it  back  again.  For  a  time 
he  struggled  to  extricate  himself,  but  in  vain.  He 
turned  his  foot  this  way  and  that  but  could  not  draw  it 
out.  Then  he  called  for  help  and  some  men  who  were 
passing  hastened  to  his  assistance.  But  their  efforts 
too  were  futile.  The  foot  was  beginning  to  swell  and 
could  no  longer  be  extricated.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
The  chain  was  too  heavy  to  be  removed  ;  the  tide  was 
coming  in  ;  deliverance  must  be  speedy  or  it  would  be 
too  late.  "Let  us  call  a  smith  to  saw  the  chain  "  said 
one.  One  of  their  number  was  dispatched  to  the  near- 
est village,  two  or  three  miles  away,  and  at  length  re- 
turned with  a  smith.  But  it  was  found  that  the  tools 
he  brought  were  inadequate,  and  he  was  obliged  to  go 
back  for  others.     At  last  he  returned  j  but  in  the  mean- 

175 


time  the  tide  had  risen,  till  the  waves  which  at  first 
barely  wet  the  feet  of  the  unhappy  victim  now  reached 
to  his  waist  The  smith  saw  that  he  could  do  nothing. 
But  one  resource  was  left.  The  unfortunate  man  must 
part  with  his  leg  if  he  would  save  his  life.  O  the  agony 
of  that  moment  !  But  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost. 
Yes,  yes,  anything  for  life.  Quick  !  bring  the  surgeon  ! 
He  is  brought  with  utmost  haste,  his  case  of  instruments 
in  hand.  "  O  doctor,"  cries  the  wretched  victim, 
"  make  haste,  save  my  life  !  "  But  the  tide  is  rushing  in 
with  terrible  force,  the  doctor  must  get  into  a  boat,  and 
it  is  only  by  strong  strokes  of  the  oar,  that  he  can  reach 
to  the  side  of  the  perishing  man,  who  is  now  in  the 
water  up  to  his  chin.  "It  is  too  late  !  "  cries  the  sur- 
geon in  despair,  and  before  anything  can  be  done,  the 
waves  have  gone  over  the  man's  head  ;  he  is  lost  ! 

Impenitent  hearer,  you  are  that  man  ;  sin  is  that 
chain,  and  you  are  fast  in  its  links.  If  it  holds  you  a 
little  longer  the  result  will  be  death.  You  have  tried  to 
break  away  alone,  and  you  cannot.  Sin  is  too  strong 
for  you.      Its  grip  is  tightening  day  by  day. 

You  must  have  help,  help  which  only  One  can  give. 
But,  blessed  be  God,  that  help  has  not  to  be  fetched 
from  afar.  It  is  at  hand.  You  have  not  to  wait  till  one 
ascend  into  heaven  to  bring  Christ  down,  nor  till  one 
descend  to  bring  Christ  up  from  beneath.  "The  word 
is  nigh  thee, in  thy  mouth  and  in  thy  heart,"  that  blessed 
word  of  faith  and  hope,  "  that  if  thou  shalt  confess  with 
thy  mouth  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  shalt  believe  in  thine 
heart,  that  God  hath  raised  him  from  the  dead,  thou 
shalt  be  saved." 

But  even  with  that  help  stern  measures  may  be 
necessary.  Remember  the  word  of  that  very  Saviour  : 
"  If  thy  hand  or  thy  foot  offend  thee,  cut  them  off  and 
cast  them  from  thee.      It  is  better  for  thee  to   enter   into 

176 


life  halt  or  maimed,    rather  than,    having   two  hands  or 
two  feet,  to  be  cast  into  everlasting  fire." 

Whatever  it  be,  be  it  the  dearest  thing  on  earth, 
which  keeps  yon  fast  in  sin's  horrible  chain,  cut  it  off, 
let  it  go.  Stay  not  for  parley  ;  seek  not  to  compromise. 
Cast  yourself  at  once  and  altogether  upon  the  saving 
mercy  of  the  divine  Redeemer. 


171 


THE  UNKNOWN  FACTOR  OF  LIFE. 

Go  to  now,  ye  that  say  :  To-day  or  to-morrow  we  will  go 
into  such  a  city,  and  continue  there  a  year,  and  buy  and  sell 
and  get  gain.  Whereas  ye  know  not  ivhat  shall  be  on  the  mor- 
row. For  ivhat  is  your  life  ?  It  is  even  a  vapor  that  appeareth 
for  a  little  time  and  then  vanisheth  away.  For  that  ye  ought  to 
say  :  If  the  Lord  will,  we  shall  live  and  do  this  or  that.  But  now 
ye  rejoice  in  your  boastings :  all  such  rejoicing  is  evil.  — James 
4:  13-16. 

After  the  discovery  of  the  planet  Uranus  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  the  last  century,  astronomers  found  them- 
selves much  perplexed  by  the  irregularity  of  its  move- 
ments. It  was  found  repeatedly  to  disappoint  their  cal- 
culations and  to  appear  at  some  other  than  its  appointed 
place.  It  was  evident  that  there  was  some  unknown 
factor  concerned  in  the  problem  of  its  motion,  which 
must  be  found  and  determined  before  its  place  could  be 
successfully  predicted.  The  hypothesis  that  this  dis- 
turbing force  was  another  and  more  distant  planet  led  to 
a  search  and  eventually  to  the  discovery  of  the  planet 
Neptune  on  the  outermost  rim  of  the  solar  system. 

Life,  like  astronomy,  has  its  calculations.  There 
can  be  no  wise  conduct  of  life  without  plan  and  fore- 
cast. The  greater  part  of  our  activities  look  toward  the 
future.  The  higher  we  rise  in  the  scale  of  intelligence 
the  more  distant  are  the  results  for  which  we  toil.  But 
this  toil  for  the  future  involves  some  sort  of  a  plan  and 
anticipation  respecting  results.  The  incentive  to  effort 
is  measured  not  merely  by  the  value  of  the  results  aimed 


at,  but  also  by  the  measure  of  certainty  with  which  we  con- 
template them  as  attainable.  Unless  man  could  look  for- 
ward with  reasonable  assurance  to  such  and  such  results  as 
the  reward  of  such  and  such  efforts  he  would  remain  a  sav- 
age subsisting  upon  the  spontaneous  fruits  of  the  earth, 
and  the  products  of  the  chase,  living  from  hand  to  mouth, 
seizing  the  good  of  the  moment  and  leaving  the  future 
to  take  care  of  itself.  No  man  would  plow  or  sow  in 
the  spring,  had  he  not  a  right  to  look  for  a  harvest  in  the 
summer.  No  man  would  invest  his  capital  or  send  forth 
his  ships  in  the  ventures  of  trade  and  commerce  had  he 
not  a  reasonable  prospect  of  profitable  returns.  No  one 
would  curb  the  frolicsome  impulses  of  youth  to  years  of 
laborious  study,  had  he  not  strong  confidence  that  the 
education  so  acquired  would  prove  in  after  years  a  source 
of  power,  influence,  and  emolument.  Present  sacrifice 
for  future  good  is  the  law  of  all  life. 

In  life-plans  however,  as  in  mathematical  calcula- 
tions, absolute  certainty  is  impossible  unless  all  the  fac- 
tors that  enter  into  the  problem  are  known.  So  long  as 
there  remains  a  single  unknown  element,  it  is  liable  to 
upset  all  our  calculations,  and  lead  to  a  result  widely 
different  from  that  to  which  we  looked  forward.  But  in 
human  plans  the  unknown  element  is  never  absent. 
However  perfect  our  science,  however  consummate  our 
shrewdness,  however  ripe  our  experience,  there  will  al- 
ways remain  something  which  defies  calculation  and 
which  is  liable  at  an  unlooked  for  moment  to  upset  and 
bring  to  naught  the  best  laid  plan. 

This  is  the  theme  which  our  text  suggests  to  us  : 
The  Unknown  Factor  in  Life. 

i.  We  shall  appreciate  this  better  if  we  trace  it,  by 
way  of  illustration  in  some  of  the  common  affairs  of  life. 
Look  at  it  e.  g.,  in  agriculture.  However  good  the  seed 
which  the  farmer  employs,  however  careful  his  attention 

17'J 


to  the  proper  conditions  of  soil  and  season,  however  un- 
remitting his  industry  in  cultivation,  he  is  never  abso- 
lutely sure  of  his  harvest.  Because  that  harvest  depends 
not  simply  on  what  he  does,  but  on  what  he  does  and 
what  nature  does  taken  together,  and  because  in  the 
workings  of  nature  there  is  an  element  of  uncertainty  as 
much  beyond  his  forecast  as  it  is  outside  his  control.  No 
weather  prophet,  no  government  bureau,  no  science  of 
meteorology,  within  the  reach  of  man,  can  forwarn  him 
of  the  drought  which  may  parch  his  wheat,  of  the  pre- 
mature frost  which  may  cut  off  his  corn,  of  the  hail  storm 
which  may  bring  to  nought  in  half  an  hour  the  labor  of 
months.  No  entomologist  can  forecast  for  him  the  sud- 
den increase  of  some  species  of  grasshopper  or  caterpil- 
lar against  the  onset  of  which  he  shall  be  as  powerless  as 
against  a  destroying  flood,  and  which  in  a  single  day 
may  leave  his  green  and  flourishing  acres  as  bare  as  the 
valley  of  the  Nile  after  Pharaoh's  plague  of  locusts. 
There  is  an  unknown  factor  in  the  workings  of  nature 
that  is  liable  to  defeat  all  the  plans  of  the  husbandman. 

See  the  same  thing  again  in  navigation. 

The  most  thorough  seaman,  in  command  of  the 
staunchest  vessel,  is  never  sure  of  reaching  the  port  for 
which  he  steers.  In  the  hurricanes  that  sweep  the 
ocean,  in  the  icebergs  that  drift  with  its  shifting  cur- 
rents, in  the  fogs  that  gather  and  disperse,  and  in  the 
uncertain  workings  of  the  human  brain  at  outlook  and 
helm,  are  elements  of  uncertainty  against  which  no 
human  skill  or  vigilance  can  guard.  Few  thoughtful 
men,  I  take  it,  entrust  themselves  even  to  that  thing  of 
power,  that  masterpiece  of  human  invention,  an  ocean 
steamer,  under,  it  matters  not  how  tried  and  trusty  a  cap- 
tain, without  a  vivid  consciousness  of  the  unknown  pos- 
sibilities which  that  captain  can  no  more  forecast  than 
can  the  little  child   that  toddles   about  the  deck, — with 

180 


which  that  mighty  floating  castle  can  no  more  cope  than 
could  an  egg  shell. 

A  few  years  ago  the  "  Ville  du  Havre  "  was  return- 
ing to  France  with  a  full  complement  of  passengers,  in- 
cluding many  choice  men  who  had  been  attending  as 
delegates  the  meeting  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance  in 
New  York.  They  were  nearing  port  after  a  prosperous 
voyage,  the  sea  was  calm,  the  night  was  clear  and  illum- 
ined by  a  brilliant  moon,  the  passengers  had  retired  in 
the  best  of  spirits,  when  suddenly  at  dead  of  night,  there 
was  a  crash;  a  sailing  vessel  which  had  been  seen  for  an 
hour  by  the  officer  on  the  bridge  struck  the  steamer 
amid-ships,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  she  went  down, 
bearing  scores  of  her  passengers  to  a  watery  grave.  It 
was  all  the  result  of  a  moment's  bewilderment,  such  as 
will  sometimes  befall  the  most  expert  and  cautious.  The 
officer,  a  seaman  of  long  experience,  had  miscalculated. 
Thinking  that  he  had  plenty  of  time,  he  had  disregarded 
the  rule  of  the  sea  which  gives  to  the  sailing  vessel  the 
right  of  way,  and  had  undertaken  to  cross  her  bow, 
thereby  steering  his  ship  to  inevitable  destruction. 
That  was  the  unknown  factor  in  the  working  of  the 
human  brain,  against  which  it  is  impossible  to  guard  in 
any  affair  which  depends  upon  man's  control. 

Our  railroads  are  multiplying  and  perfecting  their 
precautions  against  accident  every  year;  but  the  worst 
accidents  are  the  accidents  which  arise  from  this  uncer- 
tain working  of  the  human  brain,  the  momentary  heed- 
lessness of  a  switch-tender,  the  one  blunder  in  twenty 
years  perhaps,  of  a  telegraph  operator,  the  sudden  reck- 
lessness of  a  careful  conductor;  and  against  these  acci- 
dents no  system  of  checks  and  automatic  signals  within 
the  power  of  man  to  construct  can  provide  a  safeguard. 
"Until  General  Sherman  came  to  New  York  to 
live,"  said  a  friend   of  the  General  the  other  day,  "and 

181 


was  wrapped  up  in  business  and  social  life,  he  spent 
much  of  his  time  reading  military  history.  As  an  army 
officer  he  was  compelled  to  travel  a  good  deal  about  the 
country,  and  in  his  trunk  he  always  took  several  volumes 
when  about  to  start  from  St.  Louis  to  Washington  or 
New  York.  One  book  was  taken  in  his  hand.  I  remem- 
ber in  the  summer  of  1875  coming  with  him  from  St. 
Louis  to  Utica,  where  he  was  to  preside  at  a  big  gather- 
ing of  war  veterans.  He  wore  a  long  linen  ulster,  and  in 
a  pocket  was  a  heavy  book  that  pulled  it  down  on  one 
side.  We  were  the  only  passengers  in  the  palace  car. 
After  a  few  minutes'  conversation  the  General  pulled  the 
book  out  of  his  pocket,  settled  himself  in  a  corner  of  the 
seat,  and  didn't  speak  for  hours.  The  book  was 
O'Meara's  "Letters  from  St.  Helena."  How  many 
times  he  had  read  the  book  the  General  said  he  didn't 
know.  He  had  read  everything  he  could  find  to  read 
about  Napoleon,  for  whose  genius  he  expressed  the  most 
enthusiastic  admiration.  As  I  remember  our  desultory 
conversation  he  held  the  opinion  that  Bonaparte  was  the 
greatest  military  commander  the  world  ever  saw.  His 
admiration  of  the  strategy  the  Emperor  showed  in  the 
later  years  of  his  career,  when  he  was  fighting  on  the 
Rhine,  before  his  first  abdication,  and  in  the  struggles  in 
front  of  Paris,  as  well  as  his  arrangements  for  Waterloo, 
was  unbounded.  "Napoleon  ought  to  have  won  at 
Waterloo,"  he  said,  "  if  there  was  any  faith  to  be  placed 
in  human  foresight." 

In  commerce  the  unknown  factors  are  almost  beyond 
numbering.  When  Bassanio  would  dissuade  his  friend 
from  risking  his  life  by  acceding  to  Shylock's  demand  of 
a  pound  of  flesh  as  the  forfeit  of  his  bond,  Antonio  re- 
plies :  "Why  fear  not,  man;  I  will  not  forfeit  it !  Within 
these  two  months, — that's  a  month  before  this  bond  ex- 
pires,— I  do  expect  return  of  thrice  three  times  the  value 

182 


of  this  bond. "  Yet  within  that  three  months  his  ships  have 
all  miscarried,  his  creditors  grown  cruel,  his  estate  has  run 
very  low,  and  he  has  nothing  but  his  pound  of  flesh  to 
pay.  It  is  a  poet's  picture  of  the  uncertainties  of  com- 
merce— uncertainties  arising  from  elements,  from  temp- 
est, fire,  and  flood — uncertainties  arising  from  the  weak- 
ness of  human  character,  the  breakdown  of  which  in  the 
presence  of  temptation  may  ruin  the  strongest  bank  and 
sweep  away  the  profits  of  the  largest  business, — uncer- 
tainties arising  from  the  fickleness  of  fashion,  suddenly 
revolutionizing  the  conditions  of  supply  and  demand  and 
reducing  a  costly  stock  to  practical  worthlessness, — un- 
certainties arising  from  the  very  genius  of  man  leading 
ever  and  anon  to  inventions  and  discoveries  which  by 
introducing  cheaper  substitutes  for  certain  necessaries,  or 
cheaper  methods  of  production,  may  render  worthless  a 
manufacturing  plant  representing  the  accumulated  wealth 
of  a  life  time,  or  reduce  to  nothing  the  industry  of  a 
whole  community.  All  the  business  sagacity  of  the  world 
has  never  yet  eliminated  the  unknown  factor  from  busi- 
ness nor  found  the  secret  of  so  clipping  the  wings  of 
riches  that  their  possessor  can  be  sure  that  in  an  un- 
looked  for  moment  they  will  not  fly  away  as  an  eagle 
toward  heaven. 

In  war,  the  most  skillful  generalship  cannot  ensure 
victory.  A  storm  rendering  the  ground  too  heavy  for  the 
manouevres  of  artillery,  a  sudden  panic  seizing  the  best 
disciplined  troops,  the  treachery  of  a  trusted  officer,  are 
contingencies  against  which  human  foresight  can  never 
guard,  and  which  may  change  the  fortunes  of  a  campaign. 

Science  is  perpetually  striving  to  extend  the  area  of 
the  known  and  the  calculable  by  bringing  the  irregular 
and  the  uncertain  under  some  formula  of  law;  but  there 
will  still  remain,  after  her  best  endeavors,  an  unexplored 
region  whose  boundaries  she  may  narrow  but  cannot 
abolish.  jg3 


The  unknown  factor  can  never  be  eliminated  ;  for  if 
we  found  it  in  nothing  else  we  should  still  find  it  con- 
fronting us  every  where  in  the  uncertainty  of  human  life. 

"Go  to  now  ye  that  say:  To-day  or  to-morrow  we 
will  go  into  such  a  city,  and  continue  there  a  year,  and 
buy  and  sell  and  get  gain.  Whereas  ye  know  not 
what  shall  be  on  the  morrow.  For  what  is  your  life?  It 
is  even  a  vapor  which  appeareth  for  a  little  time  and  then 
vanishes  away." 

When  you  can  build  a  castle  of  clouds,  can  quarry 
them,  hew  them,  and  lay  them  up  in  solid,  enduring 
walls,  then  and  not  till  then  may  you  fashion  a  certain 
and  lasting  success  out  of  that  fleeting  vapor,  a  human 
life  "The  ground  of  a  certain  rich  man  brought  forth 
plentifully,  and  he  thought  within  himself  saying  : 
'  What  shall  I  do,  because  I  have  no  room  where  to  be- 
stow my  fruits?  And  he  said,  this  will  I  do,  I  will  pull 
down  my  barns  and  build  greater,  and  there  will  I  bestow 
all  my  fruits  and  my  goods.  And  I  will  say  to  my  soul, 
Soul,  thou  hast  much  goods  laid  up  for  many  years;  take 
thine  ease,  eat,  drink  and  be  merry.'  But  God  said  unto 
him,  '  Thou  fool  !  this  night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of 
thee  !  Then  whose  shall  those  things  be  which  thou  hast 
provided? '  " 

Here  is  an  unknown  factor  which  confronts  every 
man  in  the  working  out  of  his  life  plans.  He  does  not 
know  how  long  time  he  shall  have  to  work  in,  or  whether 
he  shall  live  to  reach  the  goal  of  his  desire. 

What  would  not  the  capitalist,  busied  with  his  great 
railroad  scheme,  the  statesman,  working  out  his  national 
policy,  the  scholar  ardently  pursuing  some  great  discov- 
ery in  science,  give  to  be  sure  of  twenty  years  of  life  in 
which  to  complete  his  work?  But  that  assurance  he  can 
never  have.  To-morrow  even  he  cannot  count  on  as  his 
own.      "Boast  not  thyself   of  to-morrow,  for  thou  know- 

184 


est  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth."  Science  has  nc 
secret  for  measuring  the  length  of  a  human  life.  Death 
comes  unannounced.      And  he  waits  for  no  man. 

2.  Now  for  this  omnipresent  unknown  factor  men 
have  invented  a  name.  They  call  it  luck.  It  makes  no 
difference,  they  will  tell  you,  how  hard  a  man  may  work, 
if  his  luck  is  against  him.  In  other  words  the  unknown 
factor  may  neutralize  all  his  industry.  Success,  they  will 
tell  you,  is  the  resultant  of  pluck  and  luck,  i.  e.  of  indi- 
vidual energy  plus  a  happy  turn  of  those  conditions  which 
are  beyond  individual  control.  But  the  Bible  has  another 
name  for  it,  to-wit,  the  will  of  God.  "  For  that  ye  ought 
to  say:  If  the  Lord  will,  we  shall  live  and  do  this  or 
that." 

Have  you  ever  asked  yourself  why  God  puts  this  con- 
stant element  of  uncertainty  into  human  affairs?  It  is 
because  God  chooses  to  reign.  He  does  not  choose  to 
put  into  the  hands  of  finite,  fallible  man  the  power  to 
shape  events  at  his  will,  either  on  a  large  scale  or  a  small. 
He  does  not  choose  that  man  shall  say:  "  This,  that  or 
the  other  having  been  done,  this  result  must  follow."  The 
unknown  factor  is  God's  reserved  power  of  veto. 

Two  hands  are  busy  in  the  working  out  of  every  life- 
plan,  a  visible  and  invisible.  All  the  unknown  factors, 
the  unknown  workings  of  the  human  brain  and  the  hu- 
man heart  not  less  than  the  movements  of  the  earth- 
quake and  the  hurricane,  are  in  that  invisible  but  overrul- 
ing hand;  and  on  the  movement  of  that  hand  depends  the 
final  outcome. 

A  Sisera  gathers  a  mighty  host  and  goes  forth  to 
subdue  and  make  an  end,  once  for  all  of  the  people  of 
God  ;  but  "  the  stars  in  their  courses  fight  against"  him. 
The  unknown  factor,  this  time  in  the  shape  of  unlooked 
for  panic,  scattering  his  mighty  host,  and  a  woman's 
unsuspected  treachery  ending  his  life,  frustrates  his  design 
and  Israel  is  free.  jg5 


A  Belshazzar,  secure  in  the  impregnability  of  Baby- 
lon's walls,  laughs  in  the  face  of  the  invader  and  feasts 
in  anticipation  of  his  assumed  victory;  and  the  invisible 
hand  becomes  for  a  moment  visible,  to  write  before  the 
eyes  of  the  trembling  monarch  the  sentence  of  doom  : 
"Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Peni." 

A  Hainan  weaves  his  snare  with  consummate  art  for 
the  destruction  of  the  man  he  hates;  and  so  near  is  he  to 
success  that  the  gallows  is  already  erected  which  is  the 
destined  instrument  of  his  vengeance  ;  when  the  unknown 
factor,  the  measure  of  a  woman's  influence  over  the  fickle 
mind  of  a  despot,  frustrates  the  plot  and  sends  the  plotter 
to  die  on  his  own  gallows. 

A  Sennacherib  prepares  to  lay  siege  to  Jerusalem, 
and,  confident  in  the  overwhelming  strength  of  his  re- 
sources, rejoices  in  his  boastings  over  the  little  city  which 
he  thinks  soon  to  devour  ;  and  lo!  in  the  night,  death,  the 
unforseen,  unheralded  confounder  of  the  mighty,  stalks 
in  some  mysterious  form  of  pestilence  through  his  camp  ; 
and  on  the  morrow  he  is  in  retreat,  his  army  annihilated, 
his  prestige  gone,  hasting  homeward  to  meet  an  igno- 
minious death  at  the  hands  of  his  own  sons. 

But  whatever  the  agency, — from  broken  pitchers  in 
the  hands  of  Gideon's  three  hundred  to  the  mighty  death- 
angel  that  swept  over  the  Assyrian  camp, — back  of  them 
all  is  ever  the  will  of  God. 

"  In  the  battle  of  Waterloo,"  exclaims  Hugo,  "  there 
was  more  than  a  cloud,  more  than  a  storm.  God  was 
passing  by."  "  Was  it  possible,"  he  exclaims,  "  for  Na- 
poleon to  gain  this  battle?"  We  answer  no.  Why? 
Because  of  Wellington?  Because  of  Blucher?  No.  Be- 
cause of  God. 

The  shadow  of  a  mighty  hand  hovers  over  Water- 
loo. It  is  the  day  of  destiny.  A  force  above  man 
decided  that  day. 

186 


3.  Now  then,  this  being  so  ;  that  there  is  always 
this  unknown  factor  entering  into  the  working  out  of  our 
plans,  and  that  this  is  nothing  else  than  the  invisible 
hand  of  God,  working  either  with  us  or  against  us,  it  is 
plain  that  we  can  make  no  greater  mistake  in  life  than 
to  leave  that  factor  out  of  the  account, — to  reckon  with- 
out God, — to  assume  that  we  are  masters  of  the  situation, 
that  we  hold  the  key  to  the  future  in  our  own  hands,  and 
to  go  on  planning  and  executing  with  no  reference  to  any 
higher  will  than  our  own.  This  is  the  mistake  and  the 
sin  which  God  rebukes  in  the  words  of  our  text :  "  Go 
to  now  ye  that  say  :  To-day  or  to-morrow  we  will  go 
into  such  a  city  and  continue  there  a  year,  and  buy  and 
sell  and  get  gain.  Whereas  ye  know  not  what  shall  be 
on  the  morrow.  For  what  is  your  life?  It  is  even  a 
vapor  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time  and  then  vanisheth 
away.  For  that  ye  ought  to  say  :  If  the  Lord  will,  we 
shall  live  and  do  this  or  that.  But  now  ye  rejoice  in  your 
boastings.  All  such  rejoicing  is  evil."  Aye,  verily;  doubly 
evil  ;  evil  in  its  impiety,  as  well  as  in  its  folly.  It  is  an 
evil,  withal,  which  sometimes  meets  with  startling 
rebuke. 

In  a  cemetery  in  Central  New  York,  so  it  is  said, 
stands  a  row  of  eight  grave  stones  which  tell  a  strange 
story.  A  physician  of  the  place  during  an  epidemic  of 
diphtheria,  had  such  success  in  the  treatment  of  the  dis- 
ease, that  he  believed  himself  to  have  mastered  the  prob- 
lem, and  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  would  "defy 
the  Almighty  to  produce  a  case  of  diphtheria  that  he 
could  not  cure."  Within  a  short  time  the  disease  at- 
tacked his  youngest  child.  He  fought  it  with  all  his 
skill,  but  in  vain.  One  after  another  his  eight  children 
from  the  youngest  up  to  a  married  daughter  succumbed 
to  the  dreadful  scourge,  and  were  laid  side  by  side  in  the 
graveyard.      The  community  looked  upon  it  as  a  direct 

187 


judgment  of  God  for  his  impious  boast.  Whether  they 
were  right  or  not,  certain  it  is  that  that  row  of  grave 
stones  is  a  monument  of  warning  to  any  who  presume  to 
boast  that  they  hold  the  key  of  the  future  in  their  own 
hands. 

4.  But  then  how  shall  we  take  into  the  account  an 
unknown  factor?  What  is  there  to  do  but  to  ignore  it, 
do  the  best  we  can  with  the  known  factors  and  take  our 
chances?  If  the  unknown  factors  concern  simply  the 
hidden  form  of  nature,  the  waywardness  of  man,  and  the 
uncertainty  of  life, — if,  in  short,  what  we  had  to  reckon 
with  were  merely  luck, — we  could  do  nothing  more.  But 
if  all  these  run  back  at  last  to  one, — and  that  one  the 
will  of  God, — then  there  is  much  more  that  we  can  do. 
We  do  not  indeed  know  what  God  wills,  but  we  know 
what  God  is.  We  cannot  read  the  book  of  his  decrees  ; 
but  we  know  the  principles  upon  which  they  rest,  and 
the  goal  toward  which  they  tend.  We  cannot  forecast 
the  movements  of  the  unseen  hand  which  weaves  with 
ours  the  web  of  life,  but  we  can  have  that  hand  with  us 
or  against  us,  as  we  choose. 

We  can  take  God's  will  into  the  account  by  allying 
ourselves  with  it,  through  the  great  Reconciler,  Jesus 
Christ. 

How  then  shall  we  ally  ourselves  with  that  will? 
(1)  By  choosing  God's  ends  as  our  ends,  entering  our  little 
life-plan  into  God's  great  world-plan  ;  by  obeying  God's 
command  ;  and  by  submitting  ourselves  to  God's  ap- 
pointments. This  is  the  pith  of  the  exhortation  in  the 
text:  "For  that  ye  ought  to  say,  If  the  Lord  will,  we 
shall  live  and  do  this  or  that."  Of  course  there  is  noth- 
ing in  the  mere  saying  by  itself.  The  mistake  of  leaving 
God  out  of  the  account  in  our  life-plans  cannot  be  recti- 
fied by  the  repetition  of  any  formula,  however  pious. 
But  there  is  everything  in  cherishing  the  spirit  of  which 

188 


such  language  is  the  natural  and  instinctive  expression. 
The  rebuke  here  is  aimed  not  simply  at  a  boastful 
confidence  regarding  the  future,  but  at  the  worldly  spirit 
which  underlies  that  confidence.  Such  a  spirit  is  forget- 
ful of  dependence  upon  God  because  intent  upon  things 
with  which  God  has  nothing  to  do.  But  he  who  sets 
himself  to  work  for  God,  will  be  constantly  reminded  that 
he  must  work  with  God,  and  he  will  be  willing,  nay  de- 
sirous, that  God's  unseen  but  unerring  hand  should  work 
with  his  own,  furthering  what  is  wise,  frustrating  what  is 
foolish,  mending  what  is  imperfect,  and  bringing  out  of 
all,  the  desired  results,— God's  glory  and  the  triumph  of 
God's  kingdom. 

So  long  as  God's  hand  and  yours  are  at  cross  pur- 
poses, what  can  you  expect  but  confusion  and  failure? 
But  when  the  two  are  working  together  for  the  same 
great  end,  what  can  the  issue  be  but  harmony  and 
triumph?  Then  your  working  out  of  your  life-plan  be- 
comes like  the  writing  of  the  little  child,  too  young  to  form 
its  own  letters,  whose  father  takes  the  tiny  hand  in  his 
own,  and  guides  it  across  the  page,  letter  by  letter,  syl- 
lable by  syllable,  till  the  child's  whole  thought  stands, 
expressed  in  letters  fair  and  round. 

If  we  thus  ally  ourselves  with  God,  entering  our  life- 
plan  into  his  greater  plan,  morning  by  morning,  asking  : 
"Lord  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?  "  offering  the  day 
to  God  and  asking  him  to  direct  and  bless  all  its  activi- 
ties, we  shall  still  be  no  nearer  than  before  to  eliminating 
the  unknown  factor,  in  life;  but  without  eliminating  we 
shall  have  secured  it.  We  shall  be  no  nearer  than  before 
to  knowing  whether  life  is  to  be  long  or  short,  whether 
health  or  sickness,  gain  or  loss,  is  to  be  our  portion, 
whether  the  friends  whom  we  trust  will  prove  true  or 
disappoint  us,  but  we  shall  know,  that,  come  what  may, 
"all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God." 

189 


Like  Paul  we  shall  be  sure  that  the  unknown  factor, 
however  it  may  turn,  "  shall  turn  to  our  salvation,"  that 
Christ  shall  be  magnified  in  our  body,  whether  it  be  by 
life  or  death. 

"He  always  wins  who  sides  with  God, 
To  him  no  chance  is  lost." 

The  unknown  factor  will  thus  be  robbed,  not  only  of 
its  danger,  but  of  its  sting. 

What  matters  it  to  one  whose  prayer  of  prayers  is: 
"Thy  will  be  done,"  if  his  own  plans  are  crossed,  if  his 
own  work  is  undone?  What  are  such  things  but  the 
erasure  of  the  false  touches  in  the  pupil's  picture  by  the 
more  skillful  hand  of  the  master,  by  reason  of  which  the 
finished  work  will  show  the  fairer  at  last? 

"  For  me  it  cannot  be!  It  is  too  late!  I  have  lived  too 
entirely  for  myself.  I  have  left  God  out  of  the  account 
too  long  "  ! 

Nay,  my  friend,  but  it  can  be;  God  has  made  a  way. 
"  God  was  in  Christ  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself," 
and  he  now  beseeches  you  by  us,  his  ambassadors:  "Be 
ye  reconciled  to  God."  Throw  away  the  old  plans.  Let 
the  old  life  go.  Begin  anew  with  Christ  for  your  corner- 
stone; and  beyond  and  above  all  the  uncertainties  which 
overhang  the  earthly  future,  you  may  like  behold,  a 
mountain  peak,  rising  clear  and  glistening  above  the 
clouds  through  which  your  path  must  lie,  an  assured  and 
eternal  triumph. 

The  key  of  the  future  is  in  Christ's  hand,  and  if  that 
hand  is  with  you,  then  "Whether  the  world  or  life  or 
death,  or  things  present  or  things  to  come,  all  are  yours, 
and  ye  are  Christ's,  and  Christ  is  God's." 


190 


THE    HOLINESS    OF   GOD. 

Exalt  ye  the  Lord  our  God  and  worship  at  his  footstool; 
for  he  is  holy.    — Ps.  99:  5. 

There  is  no  one  word  more  characteristic  of  the  Bible 
than  this  word  holy.  There  is  no  one  declaration  con- 
cerning God  which  means  so  much  as  this:  "He  is 
holy."  It  is  the  central  truth  in  that  revelation  which 
he  has  made  of  himself  to  man.  It  is  the  most  exalted 
thought  of  him  which  the  mind  of  man  can  form.  It  is 
his  supreme  title  to  adoration  and  worship.  "  Exalt  ye 
the  Lord  our  God  and  worship  at  his  footstool;  for  he 

is  holy." 

The  very  loftiness  of  this  attribute  makes  it  hard  to 
define.  Holiness  is  the  one  word  which  sums  up  God's 
moral  perfections.  It  expresses  all  that  God  is  as  a 
moral  being.  Negatively,  it  denotes  his  absolute  free- 
dom from  the  least  taint  of  impurity  or  moral  evil; 
positively,  it  describes  his  possession  of  love  for  and 
delight  in  all  good.  This  quality  of  holiness  attaches 
to  all  God's  attributes.  God's  love  is  a  holy  love;  his 
justice  is  a  holy  justice;  his  patience  is  a  holy  patience; 
his  wrath  is  a  holy  wrath. 

The  seven  colors  of  the  rainbow  are  all  different,  but 
they  are  all  light,  and  together  they  make  light  in  its 
perfection.  So  the  various  moral  attributes  of  God, 
which  shine  through  the  prism  of  his  word,  though  all 
distinct,  are  all  holy;  and  together  they  make  up  his 
perfect  holiness. 

191 


As  a  holy  God,  the  God  of  the  Bible  stands  alone. 
This  is  his  distinction  when  contrasted  with  the  gods  of 
the  heathen.  Heathen  religions  may  be  searched  in 
vain  for  such  a  deity.  Their  gods  are  often  monsters  of 
depravity,  from  whose  immoralities  as  portrayed  in 
myth  and  legend  even  their  own  philosophers  have 
recoiled  in  loathing.  The  vile  armours  of  Jupiter,  the 
barbarities  of  Odin,  the  lies  and  thefts  of  Kirshna,  are 
familiar  examples  which  need  but  to  be  hinted  at.  No 
wonder  that  Plato  declared  the  popular  mythology  of 
Greece  unfit  to  be  taught  to  the  citizens  of  his  Ideal 
Republic." 

Or  if,  here  and  there,  a  purer  conception  of  the  deity 
has  been  formed,  still  it  has  hardly  risen  above  that  of 
a  just  governor, — an  impartial  judge.  The  idea  of  that 
intense  moral  purity  which  we  call  holiness  as  consti- 
tuting the  very  brightness  of  the  divine  glory  we  owe  to 
the  Bible.  The  word  holy  in  the  classic  tongues  plays 
but  an  inconspicuous  part  in  religion  and  bears  no  deep 
significance.  It  has  rather  an  external  meaning,  of 
something  separated,  set  apart  to  sacred  uses.  The 
overwhelming  weight  of  meaning  which  it  bears  in  the 
song  of  the  seraphim:  "Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God 
of  hosts,"  is  poured  into  it  by  God's  use  of  it  in  that 
Word  in  which  he  makes  himself  known  to  man. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  even  Mohammedanism, 
though  founded  on  ideas  borrowed  from  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments,  so  much  so  indeed  as  to  have  been 
sometimes  called  a  corrupt  Christianity,  and  retaining 
many  very  exalted  ideas  of  God,  has  almost  lost  the 
conception  of  his  holiness. 

The  title  "Holy"  which  is  given  to  God  almost 
oftener  than  any  other  in  the  Scriptures,  is  applied  to 
him  but  once  or  twice  in  the  Koran.  His  holiness  is 
there  quite  thrown  into  the  background  by  his  power. 

192 


Still  less  does  the  modern  philosophy  of  unbelief 
find  its  way  to  the  conception  of  a  holy  God.  In  seek- 
ing to  maintain  God's  infinity,  that  philosophy  loses  its 
grasp  upon  his  personality.  But  an  impersonal  God 
cannot  be  holy.  Such  a  God  may  be  indeed  "a  power 
that  makes  for  righteousness."  But  that  power  cannot 
be  itself  righteous.  Before  the  mystery  of  an  "Un- 
known First  Cause  "  we  may  stand  in  awe;  but  we  can 
no  longer  "give  thanks  at  the  remembrance  of  his 
holiness." 

In  its  subtlest,  most  fascinating  form  of  Pantheism, 
philosophy  identifies  God  with  nature, — and  then  pro- 
claims the  indifference  of  nature  to  all  moral  distinctions. 
Look  where  we  will,  we  look  in  vain  for  that  God 
"whose  name  is  holy,"  till  we  come  back  to  this  Word. 
But  here  we  not  only  find  his  holiness  clearly  revealed, 
we  find  it  his  supreme  distinction,  his  crowning  glory. 
He  names  himself  "the  Holy  One  of  Israel. "  The  praises 
not  only  of  earth  but  of  heaven  find  in  his  holiness  their 
sublimest  inspiration.  "Where,"  exclaims  Charnock, 
"do  they  find  any  other  attribute  trebled  in  the  praises 
of  it,  as  this?  'Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the  Lord  of  hosts.' 
Where  do  we  read  of  the  angels  crying  out,  eternal, 
eternal,  eternal,  or  faithful,  faithful,  faithful  Lord  God 
of  hosts?  Whatever  other  attribute  is  left  out,  this  God 
would  have  to  fill  the  mouths  of  angels  and  blessed 
spirits  forever  in  heaven." 

Only  this  of  all  God's  attributes  is  wrought  into  the 
Triune  name  itself,  the  most  sacred  and  most  wonderful 
of  all  the  names  of  God,  "the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the 
Holy  Spirit."  His  holiness  is  that  which  makes  God 
worthy  of  the  zvorship  of  his  creatures.  A  God  of  power 
might  be  feared.  A  God  of  wisdom  might  be  admired. 
Only  a  God  of  holiness  might  be  adored.  "Exalt  ye 
the  Lord  our  God  and  worship  at  his  footstool;  for  he  is 

193 


holy."  Without  holiness  God  would  cease  to  be  God. 
Were  that  holiness  marred  with  the  least  taint  of  evil  he 
would  become  an  infinite  monster  before  whom  we 
might  cringe,  but  whom,  though  he  should  blast  us  with 
all  his  lightnings,  we  could  never  sincerely  worship. 

This  holiness  of  God  is  no  mere  passive  purity  and 
stainlessness.  It  is  an  intensely  active  principle.  It 
determines  all  that  God  feels,  all  that  God  wills,  all  that 
God  does,  as  Creator,  Ruler,  Judge.  "  He  is  righteous 
in  all  his  ways  and  holy  in  all  his  works." 

His  holiness  is  a  consuming  fire,  at  once  of  love  and 
of  wrath.  It  makes  God  by  the  very  necessity  of  his 
being, — a  necessity  which  can  never  change  and  never 
cease, — the  enemy  of  all  sin,  of  all  evil,  wherever  in  the 
universe  it  is  found,  and  it  makes  him  by  the  same 
necessity  to  desire  and  delight  in  the  holiness  of  his 
creatures  above  everything  else  in  earth  or  in  heaven. 

Let  us  remember  this.  There  can  be  no  such  thing 
as  holiness  without  hatred  of  sin.  The  intense  expres- 
sion of  his  word,  "I,  the  Lord,  hate  evil,"  "Do  not 
the  abominable  thing  which  I  hate,"  are  no  mere  figures 
of  speech,  no  mere  accommodations  to  human  modes  of 
thought.  They  are  expressions  of  an  awful  reality,  a 
reality  inseparable  from  the  very  nature  of  holiness. 
Between  moral  opposites  there  exists  an  inevitable 
repulsion. 

On  the  other  hand  God  can  find  no  work  more 
worthy  of  himself,  none  in  which  he  shall  take  greater 
delight  than  to  call  forth,  to  foster,  and  to  perfect  in  his 
creatures  the  image  of  his  holiness.  To  this  all  the 
processes  of  grace  converge.  In  this  all  the  resources 
of  the  God-head  are  expended.  To  form  this  image  in 
the  lowliest  is  a  diviner  work  than  to  create  an  orb  like 
Sirius. 

If   holiness   is   such   an   active   principle   in   God   it 

194 


must  impress  itself  upon  all  His  works.  And  so  it  does. 
It  impressed  itself  upon  nature.  It  is  only  a  superficial 
view  that  nature  seems  indifferent  to  moral  distinctions. 
A  closer  study  of  her  laws  reveals  indeed  a  "power 
that  makes  for  righteousness."  The  laws  even  of 
nature,  work  in  the  long  run  on  the  side  of  good  and 
not  of  evil. 

It  impressed  itself  yet  more  clearly  upon  man. 
"God  made  man  in  his  own  image,"  and  though  the 
fall  has  defaced  that  image,  yet  in  that  inner  voice 
which  we  call  conscience  and  in  all  those  laws  of  our 
moral  being  which  make  it  a  costly  and  a  bitter  thing  to 
do  wrong,  we  have  still  the  witness  that  we  are  the 
offspring  of  a  holy  God. 

Holiness  has  impressed  itself  most  clearly  upon 
God's  Word.  We  may  indeed  say  that  it  is  the  one 
purpose  of  that  word  from  beginning  to  end  to  show 
men  God's  holiness  and  to  persuade  them  to  imitate  it. 
The  Mosaic  revelation  began,  it  is  true  with  very  much 
that  conception  of  holiness  which  we  recognized  a 
moment  ago  as  the  heathen  conception,  an  external 
separation  or  arbitrary  sacredness,  attaching  to  certain 
persons,  places,  times,  set  apart  for  Jehovah's  use. 
Thus  we  read  of  holy  utensils,  holy  garments,  etc. 
But  it  began  there  only  to  lead  Israel  on  and  up  from 
that  point  to  a  view  of  holiness  essentially  moral.  The 
whole  design  of  that  ritual,  with  its  elaborate  and  varied 
sacrifices,  its  distinctions  of  clean  and  unclean,  its  wash- 
ings and  purifications,  its  guarded  approach  to  God  in 
the  awful  mystery  of  the  holy  of  holies,  was  arranged  to 
impress  upon  the  worshiper  the  conception  of  a  God  of 
moral  purity,  to  whose  presence  sin  was  the  great  bar- 
rier that  needed  to  be  removed. 

As  we  pass  on  from  the  giving  of  the  law  to  the  pro- 
phetic period  in  Israel's  discipline,  we  find  this  revela- 

195 


tion  of  the  divine  holiness  growing  more  and  more 
intense  and  spiritual,  till  at  length  it  bursts  forth  in  all 
its  splendor  in  him  who  was  "holy,  harmless,  undefiled, 
and  separate  from  sinners,"  and  who  "gave  himself  a 
ransom  for  many." 

The  cross  is  the  highest  revelation  to  the  universe  of 
the  holiness  of  God,  on  both  its  sides  of  love  and  of 
wrath.  Never  could  there  have  been  conceived  such  a 
manifestation  of  the  awful  evil  of  sin  in  the  sight  of 
God  as  was  found  in  the  necessity  for  the  sacrifice  of 
God's  only  begotten  Son  before  it  could  be  forgiven. 
Yet  never  could  there  have  been  conceived  such  a  proof 
of  God's  longing  desire  to  redeem  men  from  sin  and  to 
make  them  sharers  of  his  holiness  as  appeared  in  his 
willingness  to  make  that  sacrifice. 

Now  I  have  brought  this  thought  of  God  before  you 
not  only  because  it  is  in  itself  one  of  the  sublimest 
which  can  occupy  our  minds,  a  thought  of  which  the 
angels  in  heaven  never  weary,  but  because  I  believe  it 
to  be  one  of  which  our  age,  even  the  Christianity  of  our 
age,  peculiarly  needs  to  be  reminded.  That  which  is  so 
supreme  in  God  and  so  central  in  his  Word,  should 
have  the  supreme  and  central  place  in  our  religious 
thought  and  experience.  Has  it  that  place?  I  fear  not 
altogether.  On  the  contrary  there  seems  to  be  a  dis- 
tinct tendency  in  the  thought  of  our  day  to  undervalue 
and  to  slur  over  the  word  of  God.  "  There  is  something 
in  the  air,"  one  has  expressed  it,  "which  predisposes  us 
to  think  lightly  of  sin."  Ours  is  an  age  of  sentiment- 
alism.  We  may  see  it  in  the  mawkish  sympathy 
expended  upon  unrepentant  criminals,  in  the  disposi- 
tion to  regard  vice  as  mere  disease  or  misfortune,  in 
the  excessive  recoil  from  physical  pain.  On  all  ques- 
tions the  appeal  is  apt  to  be  to  feeling  rather  than  to 
conscience.     To  many  it  seems  a  worse  thing  that  men 

196 


should  suffer  than  that  they  should  do  wrong.  Moral 
suasion,  too  often  ineffectual,  crowds  out  penalty  wholly 
from  the  school  and  largely  from  the  home.  We  begin 
to  hear  the  hospital  suggested  as  a  substitute  for  the 
house  of  correction.  Our  theology  and  our  morals  are 
both  subjected  by  this  current  sentimentalism  to  a  gel- 
atinizing process.  We  never  weary  of  dwelling  upon 
the  love  of  God,  but  we  too  readily  forget  that  it  is  a 
holy  love.  The  love  of  God  as  it  is  often  presented  in 
the  literature,  and  even  the  sermons  of  the  day,  is  a 
mere  desire  to  see  his  children  have  a  good  time,  of 
which  a.  human  father  of  any  strength  of  character 
would  be  ashamed. 

How  different  the  love  of  God  as  presented  in  his 
word!  That  is  a  love  the  whole  scope  and  aim  of  which 
is  to  make  his  children  holy,  and  which  spares  no  dis- 
cipline, however  sharp,  that  will  lead  to  that  result. 
The  very  forms  of  our  devotion  too  often  betray,  in 
their  tone  of  easy  familiarity  and  excessive  endearment, 
an  utter  absence  of  that  profound  reverence  for  a  holy 
God  which  thrills  through  the  heavenly  song,  as  it 
caught  the  ear  of  the  rapt  seer  of  Patmos. 

We  need  to  come  back  to  the  Bible  and  to  study 
God  as  there  revealed  alike  in  the  Old  Testament  and 
the  New;  we  need  to  linger  before  the  cross  and  read 
its  inmost  meaning  till  our  whole  souls  are  filled  with  a 
sense  of  the  unspeakable  holiness  of  Him  "with  whom 
we  have  to  do." 

For  indeed  this  truth  that  God  is  holy  means  every- 
thing to  us.  Here  is  a  searching  test  of  our  spiritual 
state.  How  am  I  affected,  let  me  ask  myself,  by  the 
thought  of  God's  holiness?  Am  I  in  sympathy  with 
that  joyous  outburst  of  the  Psalmist  in  another  Psalm, 
"  Rejoice  in  the  Lord  ye  righteous  and  give  thanks  at 
the  remembrance  of  that  holiness.  "?     Does  the  remem- 

197   . 


brance  of  his  holiness  fill  me  with  thankfulness,  or 
with  dread?  Would  an  eternity  in  the  presence  of  a 
holy  God  be  to  me  an  eternity  of  blessedness  or  of  tor- 
ture? These,  these  are  questions  that  we  cannot  afford 
to  put  by.  Sooner  or  later  we  must  face  the  answers  to 
them.  For  unless  we  do  indeed  love  to  think  of  God 
as  a  holy  God  we  could  never  attune  our  voices  to  the 
harmony  of  heaven  and  could  never  breathe  in  its 
atmosphere.  "Without  holiness  no  man  shall  see  the 
Lord."  It  is  only  the  true  Christian  who  can  give 
thanks  at  the  remembrance  of  God's  holiness.  But  he 
can  and  will,  even  though  he  seem  to  see  in  himself  as 
yet  an  utter  lack  of  conformity  to  it. 

There  is  indeed  nothing  more  humbling  than  a  clear 
view  of  God's  holiness.  When  Isaiah  had  a  vision  of 
it,  it  wrung  from  him  the  cry:  "Woe  is  me,  for  I  am 
undone;  because  I  am  a  man  of  unclean  lips  and  I  dwell 
in  the  midst  of  a  people  of  unclean  lips."  And  when 
Simon  Peter  got  a  glimpse  of  it  in  Jesus  Christ  his 
first  impulse  was  to  cry:  "Depart  from  me,  for  I  am  a 
sinful  man,  O  Lord." 

It  is  not  uncommon  in  these  days  to  hear  sneers  at 
the  language  of  intense  self-abasement  in  which  many 
of  the  holy  men  of  Scripture  speak  of  themselves,  as 
exaggerated  and  unbecoming.  Unbecoming  it  certainly 
is  in  those  who  repeat  it  without  feeling  it,  as  a  mere 
cant  of  devotion.  But  for  my  part  I  have  no  doubt, 
that  could  we  but  see  the  holiness  of  God  as  those  men 
saw  it,  we  should  find  the  intensest  of  their  utterances 
none  too  strong  to  express  our  feeling  of  our  own 
unworthiness.  A  God  before  whom  even  seraphs  cover 
their  faces  is  not  a  God  before  whom  of  sinful  men 
can  stand  unabashed.  Yet,  humbling  though  it  is,  the 
thought  of  God  as  Holy  is  at  the  same  time  full  of  com- 
fort.    What  a  terrible  thing  for  the  world,   could   there 

198 


be  the  least  suspicion  of  unholiness  in  its  Ruler  and 
Governor.  Who  then  could  lean  upon  his  promise? 
Who  could  trust  himself  in  his  hands?  Who  could  bow 
to  his  disposal  of  events?  But  because  he  is  holy,  we 
know  that  he  doeth  all  things  well.  Because  he  is  holy 
we  know  that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  him.  Above  all,  because  he  is  holy  we  know 
that  we  can  lean  upon  him  in  our  own  battle  with  sin. 

There  could  be  nothing  more  hopeless  than  that 
battle,  did  we  not  know  that  God  cares  infinitely  more 
for  our  victory  than  even  we  ourselves.  But,  knowing 
that,  there  is  nothing  more  hopeful.  With  the  Father's 
love  to  enfold  us,  with  the  cross  of  Christ  to  redeem  us, 
with  the  indwelling  Spirit  to  sanctify  us  how  can  we 
fail?     We  cannot  if  we  seek. 

Here  then  is  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter. 
"Be  ye  holy,"  so  God  speaks  to  us  in  the  Old  Testa- 
ment. "Like  as  he  which  hath  called  you  is  holy,  be 
ye  yourselves  also  holy  in  all  manner  of  living,"  so  he 
speaks  to  us  in  the  New. 

"The  sum  of  all  religions,"  it  has  been  said,  "is  to 
be  like  the  God  we  worship."  A  holy  God  must  have 
holy  worshipers.  Since  the  least  taint  of  sin  is  hateful 
to  him,  our  fellowship  with  him  cannot  be  complete  till 
the  last  trace  of  it  is  gone  from  our  souls.  Salvation, 
as  the  Word  of  God  presents  it,  is  God's  way  of  cleans- 
ing us  from  sin,  and  restoring  in  us  his  holy  likeness. 
The  promise  of  a  salvation  which  shall  free  us  from 
penalty  while  leaving  us  to  wallow  in  sin  is  the  devil's 
lie.  While  God  lives,  while  eternity  lasts,  no  power  in 
the  universe  can  separate  forgiveness  from  holiness,  so 
that  it  shall  be  possible  to  possess  and  enjoy  the  one 
without  seeking  and  beginning  to  possess  the  other. 

For  this  Christ  died;  for  this  therefore  we  should 
live.     For  this  his  Spirit  dwells  in  our  hearts.     If  we 

199 


do  not  work  with  that  Spirit  for  this  end,  we  are  working 
against  him;  and  no  insult  to  God  could  be  greater  than 
to  resist  the  work  on  which  he  has  set  his  heart. 

O,  for  more  of  the  spirit  of  William  James  when  he 
wrote,  "I  want  holiness  so  much  that  I  might  say  I 
want  nothing  else.  One  additional  grain  of  holiness 
*  *  *  with  the  consciousness  that  God  was  pleased 
with  it  would  outweigh  a  universe  of  every  other  kind 
of  good." 

Is  this  your  longing  my  brother?  Then  there  is  a 
precious  promise  for  you.  "Blessed  are  they  which  do 
hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall  be 
filled."  Then  with  the  Psalmist  you  may  sing:  "I 
shall  be  satisfied,  when  I  awake,  with  thy  likeness." 


200 


GOD  OUR  MAKER. 

Know  ye  that  the  Lord  he  is  God.  It  is  he  that  hath  made 
us  and  we  are  his.  We  are  his  people,  and  the  sheep  of  his 
pasture.  — Ps.  ioo:  3.     R.  V. 

So  God  created  man  in  his  own  image,  in  the  image  of  God 
created  he  him;  male  and  female  created  he  them.   — Gen.  1:  27. 

Short  as  it  is,  this  100th  Psalm  is  truly  a  wonderful 
Psalm,  of  which  it  has  been  said,  with  as  much  truth  as 
beauty  :  "This  Psalm  contains  a  promise  of  Christian- 
ity, as  winter  at  its  close  contains  the  promise  of  spring. 
The  trees  are  ready  to  bud  ;  the  flowers  are  just  hidden 
by  the  light  soil  ;  the  clouds  are  heavy  with  rain  ;  the 
sun  shines  in  his  strength  ;  only  a  genial  wind  from  the 
south  is  wanted  to  give  a  new  life  to  all  things." 

This  is  no  exaggeration.  From  out  the  bosom  of 
the  Jewish  Church,  with  its  national  sanctuary,  its  sepa- 
rating rites,  its  exclusive  call,  comes  this  voice  of  uni- 
versal religion,  bidding  all  the  earth  rejoice  in  Jehovah. 
Paul  himself  did  not  preach  a  broader  gospel.  Here  is 
no  word  of  the  Abrahamic  covenant,  no  word  of  the 
Levitical  sacrifices.  The  temple  is  here  indeed  ;  but  its 
gates  seem  to  stand  wide  open  to  the  nations.  And  the 
appeal  by  which  men  are  summoned  to  worship  is  that 
simplest,  most  elementary  appeal  which  comes  home  to 
all  alike,  the  claim  of  God  as  Creator. 

Last  week  we  listened  to  an  inspired  invitation  to 
worship  God  for  what  he  is  in  himself.  "  Exhalt  ye  the 
Lord  our  God  and  worship  at  his  footstool,  for  he  is 
holy."     Here  we  are  again   invited   to   worship  him   for 

201 


what  he  is  to  us.  "  Serve  the  Lord  with  gladness  ; 
come  before  his  presence  with  singing  ;  know  ye  that 
the  Lord  he  is  God  ;  it  is  he  that  hath  made  us  and  we 
are  his  ;  we  are  his  people,  and  the  sheep  of  his 
pasture." 

It  is  this  claim  of  God  upon  us  as  our  Maker,  that 
I  ask  you  to  consider  this  morning. 

Where  did  the  Psalmist  learn  this  truth  ?  He 
learned  it  from  an  old  book,  already  venerable  and  al- 
ready sacred  when  he  penned  this  song  of  praise, 
wherein  it  stands  written  :  "So  God  created  man  in 
his  own  image  :  in  the  image  of  God  created  he  him  ; 
male  and  female  created  he  them."  How  grandly  does 
that  record  stand  out  in  its  simple  dignity,  whether 
against  the  grotesque  and  puerile  myths  of  heathen  an- 
tiquity, or  against  the  speculations,  now  degrading,  now 
presumptuous,  concerning  man's  origin,  even  of  this 
boasted  century  of  enlightenment. 

Ever  since  there  have  been  upon  the  earth  beings 
who  could  think  and  question,  one  of  the  questions 
which  has  deeply  engaged  their  thought,  has  been  the 
question,  Whence.  Whence  am  I  ?  How  came  I  here  ? 
History  is  preforce  silent  upon  this  question.  Its  begin- 
nings find  man  already  here.  How  he  came  here  it  can 
no  more  tell  than  our  memories  can  carry  us  back  to  our 
own  entrance  upon  life.  Science  is  silent  upon  the 
question.  In  vain  the  chemist  in  his  laboratory  labors 
to  bring  life  out  of  dead  matter.  He  cannot  bring  so 
much  as  one  tiny  animalcule  into  being,  save  from  a  liv- 
ing germ.  In  vain  the  geologist  searches  the  rocks  for 
some  trace  of  a  "missing  link."  In  vain  the  biologist 
labors  to  effect  some  transmutation  of  species  which  shall 
show  us  man  in  process  of  becoming.  We  trace  back 
our  ancestry,  link  by  link,  into  the  remote  past ;  but  the 
first  link  we  shall  never  reach,  save  by  a  doubtful  guess 

202 


or  the  sure  witness  of  One  who- made  us. 

Such  a  witness  is  offered  us  here.  "  But  how  do  I 
know,"  you  ask  me,  "  that  this  record  of  man's  origin  is 
true  ?  I  want  it  demonstrated,  I  want  it  brought  to  the 
test  of  science,  before  I  can  believe  it."  My  friend,  how 
do  you  know  that  she  whom  you  call  by  the  sacred  name 
of  mother,  whose  gentle  hand  soothed  your  fevered 
brow  in  childhood,  whose  loving  arms  were  your  refuge 
in  every  trouble,  whose  serene  face  is  the  benediction 
of  your  manhood,  and  whose  silver  locks  are  a  very  halo 
of  sainthood  in  your  eyes,  was  indeed  the  author  of  your 
being  ?  She  told  you  so  ?  But  what  if  after  all  you 
have  been  the  dupe  of  selfish  imposture  practiced  to  gain 
reverence  and  filial  duty  ?  Will  you  not  demand  some 
crucial  test,  before  you  again  breathe  that  sacred  name 
and  bestow  that  filial  kiss  ?  Will  you  not  at  least  have 
the  physician  and  the  nurse  brought  into  court  and  put 
upon  their  oath  to  confirm  that  unsupported  testimony  ? 
"Ah,  "  you  say,  "it  needs  no  such  confirmation.  That 
transparent  sincerity  and  truth  which  I  have  learned  to 
know  all  these  years,  those  tender  tones  that  have  so 
often  thrilled  my  very  heart,  that  exhaustless  fountain  of 
mother-love  which  no  waywardness  or  ingratitude  ever 
checked  in  its  flow,  that  self-sacrifice  without  weariness 
and  without  end,  which  have  followed  me  all  my  life 
through,  these  are  their  own  sufficient  confirmation.  I 
ask  no  other  warrant  of  her  claim  to  all  the  devotion  due 
from  a  son  to  her  from  whom  he  has  drawn  his  life." 

Well,  then,  here  is  a  book  that  speaks  to  me  in  the 
name  of  God,  a  book  that  bears  upon  its  face  the  stamp 
of  sincerity,  a  book  that  searches  my  very  heart,  that 
appeals  to  my  inmost  being  as  no  other  book  ever  did  or 
could,  a  book  whose  very  pages  seem  to  throb  and  glow 
with  paternal  love,  and  which  culminates  in  a  revelation 
of  uttermost  sacrifice  for  the  race  of  man,  such  as  had  else 

203 


never  entered  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive  ;  and  that 
book  tells  me  God  is  my  Maker,  that  my  humanity  came 
from  his  hand  and  bears  his  image  and  likeness.  That 
answer  satisfies  the  highest  demands  of  my  reason  and 
meets  the  deepest  wants  of  my  heart.  It  imparts  a 
meaning  to  the  confused  riddle  of  history,  and  pierces 
with  a  beam  of  prophetic  light  the  dark  mystery  of  des- 
tiny. Accepted  as  true  it  raises  man  to  the  loftiest  moral 
stature  of  which  he  is  capable.  What  other  confirmation 
does  it  need  or  could  it  have? 

' '  God  created  man. " 

Look  first  at  the  fact  itself  ;  then  at  its  bearings  for 
us. 

I.  The  fact.  God  created  man.  "Stop!  stop!" 
cries  the  materialist,  "that  is  mere  unscientific  mythol- 
ogy. Matter  evolved  man.  That  is  the  scientific  ac- 
count of  his  origin."  And  what  then  is  this  matter  out 
of  which  have  come  the  thoughts  of  a  Milton,  the  dis- 
coveries of  a  Newton,  the  visions  of  a  Raphael  !  Noth- 
ing can  be  evolved  from  matter  which  was  not  in  matter 
to  begin  with.  An  acorn  could  never  develope  into  an 
oak  if  all  the  potentialities  derived  from  a  foregoing  oak 
were  not  wrapped  up  in  that  germ.  If  man  is  the  spon- 
taneous outcome  of  matter,  by  however  long  a  process, 
then  thought,  feeling,  will,  personality,  all  must  have 
been  properties  of  that  matter  from  whence  he  sprung. 
If  they  were  not,  that  matter  was  wrought  into  form  and 
quickened  into  life  by  a  living  God. 

"God  created  man."  Nay,  says  the  Buddhist  cate- 
chism, which  has  already  gone  through  two  editions  in 
Germany,  there  is  no  God.  The  Bible  idea  of  creation 
is  "a  delusion."  Man  was  his  own  maker.  "Every- 
thing originates  through  and  out  of  itself,  by  virtue  of 
its  own  will,  and  according  to  its  own  inner  nature  and 
constitution."     Such  is  the  boasted  "  light  of  Asia,"  for 

204 


which  some,  it  seems,  even  in  Christian  lands,  are  im- 
patient to  forsake  the  "  light  of  the  world  !  "  How  vain 
are  such  imaginations  !  Man  himself,  even  as  he  is  in 
this,  his  fallen  condition,  is  still  a  witness  for  the  being 
of  a  Creator.  Intelligence,  personality,  conscience  in 
man  witness  to  a  First  Cause,  intelligent,  personal,  holy. 

"  Where  then  is  this  Creator?"  cries  the  sceptic 
again.  "  Show  him  to  me  and  I  will  believe."  And 
yet  this  same  sceptic  tells  us  of  the  atoms  of  which  mat- 
ter is  composed,  estimates  how  many  there  are  in  a  cubic 
inch  of  gold,  how  many  in  a  cubic  inch  of  hydrogen  ; 
pictures  their  groupings  ;  describes  their  motions.  Has 
he  ever  seen  an  atom  ?  No.  Has  any  man  ever  seen 
one  ?  No.  Can  any  man  ever  see  one  ?  No.  Why 
then  affirm  their  existence  ?  Because  they  explain  the 
phenomena  which  we  see.  O  strange  infatuation,  that 
can  believe  in  invisible  atoms  because  they  account  for 
a  few  things,  and  cannot  believe  in  an  invisible  Creator, 
though  he  accounts  for  all  things  ! 

But  again,  "  God  created  man."  Man  then  is  a  dis- 
tinct being.  He  is  not  an  emanation  of  the  divine  es- 
sence itself,  "co-existent  and  co-eternal  with  God,"  as 
the  Christian  science  (falsely  so  called)  of  our  day  in  ex- 
press terms  declares  ;  building  its  whole  system  upon 
this  primeval  falsehood,  centuries  old,  that  God  and  man 
are  one,  "inseparable,  harmonious,  infinite  and  eternal." 

In  vain  does  this  old  falsehood  of  pantheism,  which 
always  in  all  its  forms  strikes  at  the  foundation  of  respon- 
sibility, destroys  the  distinction  between  good  and  evil, 
and  makes  man  the  object  of  his  own  worship,  seek  thus  in 
these  days  by  tricking  itself  out  in  detached  phrases  of 
scripture,  to  pass  itself  off  as  God's  truth.  It  founders 
upon  the  immovable  rock  of  this  declaration  imbedded 
in  the  very  first  chapter  of  divine  revelation,  "  God  cre- 
ated man."  This  sets  man  over  against  God,  the  creature 

205 


over  against  the  Creator,  the  finite  over  against  the  In- 
finite, as  a  distinct  being  with  a  distinct  responsibility  to 
the  God  who  made  him. 

"God  created  man."  Again  I  look  at  this  declara- 
tion. I  open  my  Hebrew  Bible  and  I  find  that  this  word 
created  is  a  word  used  in  this  form  only  of  God.  I  find 
it  sparingly  employed  even  in  this  story  of  beginnings. 
It  occurs  here  only  at  three  points,  which  are  confessedly 
the  greatest  crises  of  the  story  ; — at  the  beginning  of  all 
things — "In  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and 
the  earth,"  at  the  first  appearance  of  animal  life,  and  at 
the  appearance  of  man.  Elsewhere,  even  in  this  creation- 
story,  a  commoner  and  broader  word,  formed  ox  fashioned, 
takes  its  place.  There  must  be  a  significance  in  this.  It 
seems  to  mark  the  introduction  of  something  new.  It 
introduces  man  to  us  as  a  new  order  of  being,  not  a  mere 
link  in  a  chain  of  evolution  but  the  product  of  a  distinct 
creative  act.  But  this  view  of  man  does  not  turn  upon 
the  testimony  of  a  single  word,  or  upon  a  possibly  doubt- 
ful point  of  lexicography.  We  turn  to  the  next  chapter, 
and  there  we  read  :  "  And  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of 
the  dust  of  the  ground  and  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the 
breath  of  life,  and  man  became  a  iiving  soul."  Here  is  a 
new  life,  a  soul,  direct  from  God.  Even  if  science  shall 
sometime  succeed  in  proving,  as  by  its  own  confession  it 
has  not  yet  done,  save  by  doubtful  inference,  the  deriva- 
tion of  man's  body  from  the  lower  orders  of  creation, 
still  the  soul,  which  reaches  out  into  the  infinite,  which 
feels  and  owns  the  eternal  law  of  righteousness,  and  even 
in  its  blindness  gropes  upward  toward  "an  unknown 
God,"  witnesses  to  another  origin  and  points  upward  to 
a  divine  original. 

"God  created  man  in  his  own  image."  It  were  mere 
childish  trifling  to  interpret  this  sublime  declaration  which 
underlies  the  whole  Scripture,   forms  the  basis  of  every 

206 


appeal  to  man's  conscience,  and   marks  the  goal  of  the 

whole  stupendous  scheme  of  redemption,  as  having  refer- 
ence to  man's  body,  form  and  features.  God  is  a  spirit ; 
and  it  is  in  the  spirit  of  man  that  we  must  seek  his  like- 
ness, in  that  spirit  which  "  thinks  God's  thoughts  after 
him,"  as  it  reads  them  in  the  rocks  and  in  the  stars,  that 
spirit  which  knows  what  it  is  to  delight  in  goodness  and 
to  be  indignant  at  wrong,  that  spirit  which  is  capable  of 
truth,  of  justice,  of  benevolence,  and  which  rises  to  its 
highest  glory  in  self-sacrificing  love.  However  sadly  de- 
faced, traces  of  that  divine  image  may  still  be  found 
everywhere.  I  see  them  in  the  aroused  conscience  of  the 
trembling  Felix,  in  the  penitent  tears  of  the  woman  who 
was  a  sinner,  in  the  trustful  prayer  of  the  thief  on  the 
cross.  Wherever  the  spiritual  nature  of  man  asserts 
itself  above  the  clamor  of  his  animal  passions,  there  I 
catch  a  glimpse  of  that  divine  image  in  which  he  is  made. 
But  I  find  that  image  in  its  unmarred  completeness  only 
in  the  man  Christ  Jesus,  the  one  perfect  man,  and  there- 
fore the  perfect  image  of  the  invisible  God,  through  whom, 
I,  too,  may  be  "renewed  in  that  image,"  "putting  on 
the  new  man  which  after  God  hath  been  created  in  right- 
eousness and  holiness  of  truth." 

II.  What  now  does  this  truth  that  God  is  our  Maker, 
and  that  he  made  us  in  his  own  image,  mean  for  us?  It 
means,  first  of  all,  that  we  belong  to  God  absolutely.  "  It 
is  he  that  hath  made  us  and  wc  are  his."  No  right 
of  ownership  can  be  more  absolute  than  that  which  comes 
by  creation.  Even  that  claim  has  its  limits.  God  has 
no  right  to  deal  unjustly,  even  with  the  work  of  his  own 
hands.  But  neither  can  he  deal  unjustly,  for  he  is  holy. 
Within  the  limits  set  by  his  own  holiness  the  Creator's 
sovereignty  is  absolute.  He  made  us  for  himself.  He 
had  a  right  so  to  make  us,  and  the  being  that  we  received 
from  him  we  are  bound   to  devote   unreservedly  to  his 

207 


service.  Go  where  we  will,  this  claim  follows  us.  We 
can  shake  it  off  only  by  ceasing  to  be.  Not  a  breath  we 
draw  is  our  own.  Not  a  faculty  we  possess  is  ours  to 
dispose  of  at  our  will.  Each  one  is  his  gift,  and  he  is 
entitled  to  its  use.  Though  we  despise  his  authority, 
trample  upon  his  law,  deny  his  being,  still  the  unalter- 
able fact  remains  :  "It  is  he  that  hath  made  us,  and  we 
are  his." 

He  made  us  for  himself — but  how?  That  we  might 
know  him,  love  him,  serve  him,  rejoice  in  him,  reflect  his 
image,  and  share  his  glory  for  ever  and  ever.  The  crea- 
tive impulse  was  an  impulse  of  benevolence;  God  made 
man  that  there  might  be  those  upon  whom  he  could  pour 
out  the  rich  treasures  that  are  in  himself  and  who  could 
share  his  own  ineffable  blessedness.  Since  this  is  the 
end  for  which  we  were  made,  we  can  only  be  happy  in 
fulfilling  it  ;  and  it  is  suicide  as  well  as  robbery  to  set 
ourselves  against  this  purpose  of  our  Maker  and  the  laws 
of  that  being  which  he  gave  us. 

Since  God  is  our  maker,  again,  we  have  no  right  to 
complain  of  the  way  in  which  he  has  made  us  or  the  lot 
to  which  he  has  appointed  us.  "  Woe  to  him  that  striv- 
eth  with  his  maker  !  Let  the  potsherd  strive  with  the 
potsherds  of  the  earth.  Shall  the  clay  say  to  him  that 
fashioned  it,  What  makest  thou?  Or  thy  work,  He  hath 
no  hands?  "  If  God  were  not  holy  as  well  as  omnipotent 
this  reasoning  would  not  hold.  But  since  he  is  not  only 
our  Maker,  but  a  Maker  in  his  very  being  incapable  of 
wrong  or  injustice,  every  mouth  is  stopped,  every  mur- 
mur is  silenced.  Criticism  by  the  creature  of  the 
Creator's  work  is  blasphemy.  Unquestioning  submission 
is  all  that  is  left  us  to  whatever  that  act  of  creation 
involves. 

It  is  easy  to  complain,  Why  did  God  make  me  thus? 
Why  did  he  impose  upon  me  this  weakness,  that  limita- 

208 


tion?  Why  did  he  subject  me  to  this  terrible  law  of 
heredity?  Why  did  he  place  me  amid  such  surroundings 
of  temptation?  It  is  easy  to  say,  If  I  had  been  offered 
my  choice  to  be  created  such  as  I  am  or  not  to  be  created 
at  all,  I  should  have  chosen  rather  not  to  be.  Easy!  But 
how  useless  and  how  sinful!  "It  is  he  that  hath  made 
us  and  not  ourselves,"  as  the  old  version  has  it.  He 
made  us  in  wisdom.  He  made  us  for  good,  but  he  took 
counsel  therein  with  none  but  himself.  He  made  us 
"  according  to  the  good  pleasure  of  his  will."  How  much 
chafing  at  our  limitations,  how  much  fretting  at  our  lot 
might  we  spare  ourselves,  did  we  but  remember  this. 

The  old  monk,  Roger  of  Wendover,  tells  this  story 
of  one  of  the  German  emperors  :  "  The  Emperor  Henry, 
while  out  hunting  on  the  Lord's  day  called  Quinquages- 
ima,  his  companions  being  scattered,  came  unattended 
to  the  entrance  of  a  certain  wood,  and  seeing  a  church 
hard  by,  he  made  for  it,  and  feigning  himself  to  be  a  sol- 
dier, simply  requested  a  mass  of  the  priest.  Now  that 
priest  was  a  man  of  notable  piety,  but  so  deformed  in 
person  that  he  seemed  a  monster  rather  than  a  man. 
When  he  had  attentively  considered  him  the  emperor 
began  to  wonder  exceedingly  why  God,  from  whom  all 
beauty  proceeds,  should  permit  so  deformed  a  man  to 
administer  his  sacraments.  But  presently,  when  mass 
commenced  and  they  came  to  the  passage,  "Know  ye 
that  the  Lord,  he  is  God,"  which  was  chanted  by  a  boy, 
the  priest  rebuked  the  boy  for  singing  negligently,  and 
said  with  a  loud  voice,  '  It  is  he  tliat  hath  made  us  and  not 
we  ourselves.'  Struck  by  these  words  and  believing  the 
priest  to  be  a  prophet  [/.  e. ,  I  suppose,  inferring  from 
what  seemed  the  reverent  significance  of  the  utterance 
an  unusual  holiness  in  the  man,]  the  emperor  raised  him, 
much  against  his  will,  to  the  archbishopric  of  Cologne, 
which  see  he  adorned  by  his  devotion  and  excellent  vir- 
tues." 209 


But  on  the  other  hand,  since  God  is  our  Maker  we 
can  trust  his  care.  "  We  are  his,"  is  a  word  of  twofold 
meaning.  It  means  not  only  that  our  Maker  is  entitled 
to  our  service,  but  that  we  are  under  his  protection. 
Even  the  relation  of  Creator  and  creature,  reverently  be 
it  said,  is  a  relation  of  mutual  obligation.  God  is  not  a 
drowsy  Brahm,  who  in  a  moment  of  disturbed  repose 
has  called  a  race  into  being,  straightway  to  forget  them 
in  profounder  slumber.  "We  are  his  people  and  the 
sheep  of  his  pasture." 

It  is  natural  for  the  maker  of  anything  to  feel  a 
peculiar  interest  in  his  own  work.  The  author  confesses 
to  exceptional  tenderness  for  the  creatures  of  his  own 
fancy.  The  sculptor  looks  with  almost  paternal  fond- 
ness on  the  statue  conceived  in  his  own  brain  and 
wrought  by  his  own  chisel.  The  poet  loves  his  own 
verses  and  hears  with  a  thrill  of  joy  that  they  have  found 
lodgment  "in  the  heart  of  a  friend."  So  God  delights 
in  the  works  which  he  has  made.  "  His  tender  mercies 
are  all  over  his  works."  Even  the  birds  of  the  air  and 
the  lilies  of  the  field  are  the  objects  of  his  care,  because 
he  made  them.  How  much  more  that  one  creature 
whom  he  made  in  his  own  image,  and  who  is  therefore 
not  only  his  creature  but  his  child.  Surely  we  need 
never  urge  in  vain  the  plea  of  the  Psalmist  :  "  Forsake 
not  the  works  of  thine  own  hands  ;  "  and  we  need  never 
fear  to  rest  in  that  assurance  of  the  Saviour  :  "  Fear  ye 
not,  therefore,  ye  are  of  more  value  than  of  many 
sparrows." 

The  only  conceivable  danger  that  can  threaten  us  in 
the  hands  of  a  Maker  who  is  also  our  Father  is  the  diso- 
bedience to  his  will.  So  long  as  we  obey  that  will,  so 
long  as  we  yield  to  that  control,  we  are  secure.  The 
power  that  made  us  may  be  trusted  to  keep,  and  the  love 
that  made  us  for  a  destiny  of  glory  may  be  trusted  to 

210 


work  out  that  destiny,  unless  we  defeat  its  purpose. 

For  with  perfect  power  and  perfect  love  goes  perfect 
knowledge.  Because  God  made  us,  he  knows  us  through 
and  through.  All  our  thoughts,  all  our  motives,  all  the 
labyrinthine  windings  of  our  natures,  all  the  unfathomed 
depths  of  our  hearts  are  "naked  and  open "  to  him. 
Thus  he  understands  just  how  to  deal  with  us.  Are  our 
souls  disordered  by  sin,  he  alone  can  be  trusted  to  pro- 
vide an  adequate  remedy.  Is  his  image  in  us  defaced 
and  lost,  he  alone  knows  how  it  can  be  restored. 

Let  us  suppose  that  in  the  rummaging  in  some 
neglected  attic  you  have  come  upon  an  unpublished 
symphony  of  Beethoven,  but  alas,  in  a  sadly  mutilated 
condition.  Many  leaves  are  gone,  and  what  are  left  are 
so  stained  and  blurred  and  torn  that  it  is  only  here  and 
there  a  fragment  of  the  score  that  is  legible.  You  play 
these  fragments  and  you  are  entranced  with  the  power 
and  beauty  of  the  theme.  You  are  tantalized  beyond 
endurance  by  the  hints  of  harmonies  that  you  can  no 
longer  reproduce.  You  take  the  fragments  to  musician 
after  musician,  to  composer  after  composer,  asking  them 
if  they  cannot  divine  the  master's  thoughts  sufficiently  to 
complete  the  work.  But  each,  in  turn,  declines  the  task. 
Only  the  master  himself  could  complete  the  fragments, 
fill  the  gaps,  and  restore  the  broken  harmonies.  Human 
nature  in  you,  in  me,  in  the  race,  is  like  that  mutilated 
symphony.  It  is  blurred,  defaced,  imperfect.  Call  it 
what  you  will,  the  ruin  of  a  once  perfect  creation,  or  the 
fragments  of  a  creation,  still  unfinished,  the  fact  of  in- 
completeness is  beyond  dispute.  It  meets  us  everywhere. 
We  catch  here  and  there  a  hint  of  a  majestic  theme,  a 
broken  strain  of  a  divine  harmony.  But  only  he  who 
made  us  can  complete  these  fragments  and  restore  the 
perfect  music. 

One   more   thought   and  I  have  done,  but  this  the 

211 


grandest,  blessedest  thought  of  all.  Because  God  made 
us  in  his  own  image  it  is  possible  for  us  to  know  God.  Not 
indeed  thoroughly,  as  he  knows  us.  The  less  can  never 
comprehend  the  greater.  The  creature  can  never 
measure  the  Creator.  Yet  we  may  know  him  truly,  as 
like  is  only  known  by  like.  Many  things  he  has  made, 
living,  conscious  things,  which  can  never  know  their 
Maker.  His  image  is  not  in  them,  and  therefore  they 
have  no  glass  in  which  to  see  him.  But  you  and  I  may 
find  in  every  whisper  of  conscience,  in  every  noble  im- 
pulse, in  every  high  aspiration,  in  every  hard-won  virtue, 
in  every  pure  affection,  a  voice  to  interpret  to  us  that 
Father  in  heaven  who  said:  "  Let  us  make  man  in  our 
image,  after  our  likeness." 

And  when  we  see  all  these  scattered  traces  gathered 
together  in  our  elder  brother,  who  is  bone  of  our  bone 
and  flesh  of  our  flesh,  and  who  is  yet  "  the  brightness  of 
the  Father's  glory  and  the  express  image  of  his  person," 
when  we  hear  him  say  :  "  He  that  hath  seen  me  hath 
seen  the  Father,"  then  indeed  we  feel  with  awe  of  what  a 
blessed  and  perfect  union  between  the  Creator  and  his 
creature  this  divine  image  in  man  is  the  foundation.  And 
coming  to  God  through  Jesus  Christ  we  find  every  stain 
removed,  every  defect  supplied,  every  weakness  strength- 
ened, every  longing  satisfied,  every  aspiration  realized, 
and  in  a  blessed  and  ever  growing  experience  we  learn 
the  deep  truth  of  our  Saviour's  own  word  :  "This  is  life 
eternal,  that  they  may  know  thee  the  only  true  God,  and 
Jesus  Christ,  whom  thou  hast  sent." 


212 


THE    MERCY   OF   GOD. 

And  the  Lord  descended  in  the  cloud  and  stood  with  him  there 
and  proclaimed  the  name  of  the  Lord;  and  the  Lord  passed  by 
before  him  and  proclaimed,  The  Lord,  the  Lord  God,  merciful  and 
gracious,  longsuffering  and  abundant  in  goodness  and  truth, 
keeping  mercy  for  thousands,  forgiving  iniquity  and  transgres- 
sion and  sin,  and  that  will  by  no  means  clear  the  guilty,  visiting 
the  iniquity  of  t lie  fathers  upon  the  children  and  upon  the  children's 
children  unto  the  third  and  to  the  fourth  generation. — Ex.  34:  5-7. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  wonderful  scenes  of  the 
whole  Old  Testament.  Exactly  what  took  place  in  the 
solitude  of  the  cloud-wrapped  mountain  top  language 
was  inadequate  to  describe  and  imagination  is  powerless 
to  picture.  But  this  we  know,  that  it  gave  Moses  an 
insight  into  the  innermost  being  of  God  which  it  took 
the  whole  Old  Testament  to  unfold,  and  which  only  the 
incarnation  of  God  in  Jesus  Christ  could  fully  express. 

It  is  indeed  one  of  the  striking  proofs  of  the  divinity 
of  the  Scripture,  that  here,  away  back  in  this  early  time, 
amidst  the  crude  religious  ideas  which  prevailed  over 
the  whole  world,  we  have  a  description  of  God  which 
to  this  day  has  never  been  surpassed.  Moses  could 
never  have  reached  such  a  conception  if  God  himself 
had  not  revealed  it  to  him. 

Moses  you  remember  was  at  this  time  in  an  extremity. 
He  had  just  passed  through  a  terrible  struggle.  He  had 
come  down  from  Mt.  Sinai  to  find  the  nation  which 
Jehovah  had  just  redeemed  from  bondage  and  taken 
into  solemn  covenant  with  himself,  in  flagrant  apostasy. 
With  all  the  severity  of  a  righteous  indignation  he  had 

213 


first  rebuked  and  punished  their  sin,  and  then  with  all 
the  intensity  of  a  yearning  compassion  he  had  interceded 
for  their  forgiveness.  His  intercession  had  prevailed; 
the  coveted  assurance  of  reconciliation  had  been  given. 
But  now  for  the  first  time  Moses  recognized  the  full 
magnitude  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken.  He  had  to 
stand  as  mediator  between  God  and  a  people  not  only 
ignorant  and  undisciplined,  but  stiff-necked  and  rebell- 
ious. The  burden  of  responsibility  was  overwhelming. 
He  felt  that  he  must  sink  under  it  unless  he  could  have 
the  support  of  a  vision  of  God,  of  an  insight  into  God's 
"way  "  such  as  he  had  never  yet  obtained. 

It  was  this,  and  no  mere  idle  curiosity,  which  forced 
from  him  the  entreaty,  "I  beseech  thee  shew  me  thy 
glory." 

Already  Moses  had  one  great  revelation  of  God  to 
prepare  him  for  his  mission  to  Pharaoh.  In  the  name 
proclaimed  to  him  at  the  burning  bush,  "  I  am  that  I 
am,"  God  had  made  known  his  majesty  as  the  one 
infinite,  eternal,  uncreated  Deity,  high  above  all  the 
gods  of  Egypt.  But  now  he  felt  that  he  needed  some- 
thing more.  God  understood  his  prayer.  He  saw  the 
need  and  so  he  granted  the  request,  so  far  as  it  could  be 
granted  to  a  sinful  mortal. 

There  is  an  intensity  of  light  which  the  human  eye 
cannot  endure.  To  attempt  to  gaze  upon  it  would 
destroy  the  sight  forever.  So  there  is  a  glory  of  God 
which  the  flesh  could  not  support.  Under  the  disclosure 
of  it  this  mortal  frame  would  sink.  No  man  shall  see 
God's  face  and  live. 

What  Moses  saw  when  that  request  was  granted,  he 
does  not  tell  us.  Perhaps  he  could  not.  It  seems 
probable,  that  here,  as  before  in  Horeb,  the  revelation 
was  accompanied  with  some  manifestation  to  the  senses. 
But   that   was   mere    drapery.     The    substance    of   the 

214 


revelation  was  in  what  he  heard.  It  was  in  that  won- 
derful "name"  of  God,  which  was  there  proclaimed: 
"Jehovah,  Jehovah  God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long- 
suffering  and  abundant  in  goodness  and  truth,  keeping 
mercy  for  thousands,  forgiving  iniquity  and  transgres- 
sion and  sin,  and  that  will  by  no  means  clear  the 
guilty;  visiting  the  iniquity  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children  and  upon  the  children's  children  unto  the  third 
and  to  the  fourth  generation." 

The  "name"  of  God  in  Scripture  stands  for  his 
being,  and  in  this  "name"  we  have  God's  highest 
attributes,  his  inmost  essence,  disclosed  to  us. 

And  in  that  disclosure  Mercy  occupies  the  fore- 
ground. The  whole  import  of  this  revelation  was  to 
assure  Moses  that  Jehovah  was  before  all  else  a  God  of 
mercy.  We  have  justice  here  also  it  is  true,  justice  in 
its  sternest  form  of  retribution,  but  it  appears  only  as  a 
qualification  of  mercy,  put  in  to  guard  against  confound- 
ing the  divine  mercy  with  a  weak  indiscriminate  indul- 
gence. First  we  have  an  accumulation  of  all  the  words 
by  which  mercy  in  its  various  aspects  can  be  described, 
"Merciful,  gracious,  abundant  in  truth,  keeping  mercy 
for  thousands,  forgiving,"  and  there,  only  as  the  back- 
ground against  which  this  seven  hued  bow  of  divine 
mercy  may  shine  the  brighter,  the  dark  cloud  of  retrib- 
utive justice. 

These  words  are  the  key  note  of  the  whole  Old 
Testament  revelation  of  God.  Law,  ritual,  history, 
prophecy,  from  Moses  to  Malachi  are  but  the  unfolding 
of  this  precious  name  of  God.  This  text  sustains  the 
same  relation  to  the  Old  Testament  that  the  correspond- 
ing text,  Jno.  3:16,  "God  so  loved  the  world,"  sustains 
to  the  New  Testament. 

Mercy  then  is  the  very  "glory"  of  God. 

But  what  is  mercy?     Mercy  is  that  particular  mani- 

215 


festation  of  God's  love  which  is  called  forth  by  sin.  If 
there  were  no  sinners  in  the  world  there  would  be  no 
room  for  the  exercise  of  mercy.  Though  it  would  still 
be  an  essential  part  of  God's  perfection,  it  would  lie 
unrevealed  in  the  unfathomable  depths  of  divinity. 
For  there  would  be  nothing  to  call  it  forth.  When  a 
jury  have  found  an  accused  criminal  not  guilty,  they 
never  "recommend  him  to  mercy."  Justice  is  his  need 
and  his  sufficient  protection.  It  is  the  guilty  one  for 
whom  mercy  is  needed.  So  to  a  world  of  sinners  the 
mercy  of  God  is  the  great  concern.  It  is  their  only 
hope  and  their  only  plea.  Thus  mercy  differs  from 
goodness  and  from  compassion.  Goodness  has  refer- 
ence to  need,  compassion  to  suffering;  mercy  has 
reference  to  guilt.  It  differs  from  forgiveness,  because 
it  is  broader.  Forgiveness  is  a  part  of  mercy,  but  not 
the  whole.  Mercy  is  shown  even  to  the  impenitent  and 
obstinately  guilty,  in  the  forbearance  which  suspends 
their  sentence,  in  the  providential  blessings  daily 
showered  upon  them,  in  the  offer  of  salvation  made  to 
them,  in  the  helps  to  a  better  life  afforded  them,  in  the 
tender  pleadings  with  them  of  God's  Spirit.  All  this  is 
mercy,  pure  mercy.  "It  is  of  the  Lord's  mercies  that 
we  are  not  consumed."  There  is  not  a  sinner  upon 
earth  who  does  not  experience  God's  mercy  to  the  last 
hour  of  his  life.  Yet  it  is  in  forgiving  and  justifying 
that  mercy  finds  its  fullest  and  sweetest  exercise,  and  it 
is  only  the  forgiven  and  redeemed  sinner  who  can  know 
in  all  its  length  and  breadth  what  God's  mercy  is. 

No  wonder  then  that  in  a  book  for  sinners,  such  as 
the  bible  is,  mercy  should  have  the  central  place. 
There  is  no  attribute  of  God  which  it  so  much  concerns 
us  as  sinners  to  understand;  while  at  the  same  time 
there  is  no  other  attribute  upon  which,  till  God  himself 
speaks,  we  are  more  in  the  dark. 

21G 


We  need  no  Bible  to  assure  us  that  God  is  just. 
Conscience  tells  us  that.  Such  a  book  as  Plutarch's 
treatise  on  the  "Slow  Retribution  of  the  Deity"  is  the 
voice  of  natural  religion,  witnessing  to  the  absolute 
certainty  with  which  the  guilty  conscience  looks  for- 
ward to  a  meeting  with  a  righteous  judge.  But  there 
is  no  such  certain  looking  for  of  mercy.  There  cannot 
be;  for  mercy  is  in  its  very  nature  spontaneous  and  not 
necessitated. 

So  as  a  matter  of  fact  this  is  the  side  of  God's  being 
respecting  which  natural  religion  and  heathen  systems 
are  most  shadowy  and  unsatisfying.  The  tendency 
indeed  is  to  shut  out  mercy  altogether,  and  to  insist 
that  in  his  dealings  with  man  God  gives  each  in  the  end 
just  what  he  earns,  nothing  less  and  also  nothing  more. 
But  even  though  we  should  be  persuaded  that  God  is 
merciful,  this  would  not  meet  our  need,  since  we  could 
never  tell  without  his  own  assurance  how  far  his  mercy 
would  go,  and  whether  it  would  reach  as  far  as  the  full 
forgiveness  of  all  our  sins  or  not.  A  vague  hope  in 
some  possibility  of  divine  mercy  would  be,  apart  from 
any  clear  word  of  God  himself,  the  utmost  length  to 
which  we  could  go. 

In  this  great  uncertainty  —  and  what  uncertainty 
could  be  sadder  —  God  himself  steps  in  and  proclaims: 
"The  Lord,  the  Lord  God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long- 
suffering,  "and  abundant  in  goodness  and  truth." 

Through  the  whole  Old  Testament  (which  only  those 
who  are  unacquainted  with  it  conceive  as  harsh  and 
vindictive)  runs  this  unfolding  of  God's  mercy. 
Nowhere  have  I  seen  the  spirit  of  the  Old  Testament 
better  expressed  than  in  certain  sentences  of  Prof. 
Briggs,  which  many  of  you  no  doubt  have   lately  read: 

"The  mercy  of  God  is  the  theme  upon  which  the 
historians  and  the  prophets,  the  singers  and   the  sages 

217 


alike  delight  to  dwell.  The  greatest  of  the  theophanies 
granted  to  Moses  was  in  order  to  reveal  God  as  the 
gracious,  compassionate,  the  long-suffering,  abounding 
in  mercy  and  faithfulness.  The  love  of  God  rises  to  its 
heights  in  the  fatherly  love  of  Deuteronomy,  and  the 
earlier  Isaiah  and  Jeremiah;  in  the  martial  love  of 
Hosea,  Zephaniah,  and  the  second  Isaiah  —  a  love  to  an 
unfaithful  wife,  who  has  disgraced  her  husband  and  her- 
self by  many  adulteries;  and  a  chil'd  who  rewards  the 
faithful  father  with  such  persistent  disobedience,  that 
he  must  be  beaten  to  death  and  raised  from  the  dead  in 
order  to  be  saved.  The  love  of  God  as  taught  in  the 
Old  Testament  is  hard  for  the  Jew  or  the  Christian  to 
understand.      It  transcends  human  experience. 

None  could  have  taught  such  love  who  had  not  seen 
the  loving  countenance  of  God,  and  experienced  the 
pulsation  of  that  love  in  their  own  hearts.  The  love  of 
God  in  the  Bible  is  an  invincible,  a  triumphant  author- 
ity, that  invokes  the  loving  obedience  of  men." 

And  when  in  the  New  Testament  we  see  this  mercy 
of  God  actually  stooping  from  heaven  and  making  its 
abode  among  men  in  the  incarnate  Son  of  God,  breath- 
ing itself  out  upon  the  guilty  in  words  of  sweetest,  fullest 
forgiveness,  lavishing  itself  upon  the  unworthy  and 
ungrateful,  in  every  form  of  unwearied  kindness,  and 
finally  offering  itself  upon  the  cross,  a  priceless  sacrifice 
for  the  sin  of  the  world,  then  we  know  indeed  what 
Moses  dimly  perceived  and  what  prophets  and  Psalm- 
ist vainly  struggled  to  express.  This  glorious  name 
which  God  proclaimed  to  his  faithful  servant  finds  its 
only  complete  interpretation  in  the  cross  of  Calvary. 

The  sceptic  who  would  close  this  book  little  thinks 
that  in  doing  so  he  would  blow  out  the  only  light  that 
sheds  upon  our  pathway  here  a  beam  of  hope.  He 
fondly    supposes    that    he    can    retain    the    beam  while 

218 


extinguishing  the  lamp  from  which  it  streams,  —  as  I 
can  remember  trying,  when  a  child,  to  grasp  and 
imprison  in  my  clenched  fist  the  beam  of  light  that 
streamed  through  the  room  from  a  crack  in  a  closed 
blind.  But  he  cannot.  Quench  the  lamp,  and  we  are 
left  in  darkness,  shut  up  to  the  one  immovable  cer- 
tainty that  God  is  just. 

If  then  we  must  go  to  God's  word  for  our  knowledge 
of  the  very  fact  that  mercy  is  God's  peculiar  glory, 
much  more  must  we  go  thither  for  our  knowledge 
respecting    the    quality    and  conditions    of   that  mere)'. 

There  we  learn  that  God's  mercy  is  sovereign.  None 
can  dictate  its  exercise.  None  can  prescribe  its  terms. 
When  God  was  preparing  Moses  for  this  gracious  man- 
ifestation he  declared  to  him:  "I  will  have  mercy  on 
whom  I  will  have  mercy  and  will  have  compassion  on 
'    whom  I  will  have  compassion." 

In  this  mercy  is  unlike  justice.  There  is  a  necessity 
of  justice;  but  mercy  is  in  its  nature  free,  else  would  it 
not  be  mercy.  When  a  condemned  criminal  stands 
before  a  judge  to  receive  his  sentence,  exact  justice 
demands  a  certain  definite  penalty,  no  less  and  no  more. 
But  if  mercy  steps  in,  she  may  modify  that  penalty  in 
any  one  of  a  hundred  ways.  And  how  and  how  far  she 
shall  modify  it  is  optional  with  him  who  pronounces  sen- 
tence. It  cannot  be  otherwise.  Nothing  is  mercy  which 
the  guilty  can  stand  up  and  demand  as  a  right.  That  is 
simple  justice.  The  only  compulsion  which  God  is 
under  in  the  exercise  of  mercy  is  from  within.  It  is  the 
compulsion  of  his  own  fatherly  love. 

Moreover  God's  mercy  is  a  righteous  mercy.  It  is  a 
mercy  not  inconsistent  with  divine  justice.  That  is  the 
significance  of  these  last  stern  sentences  of  this  won- 
derful proclamation.  They  are  a  warning  against  pre- 
suming   upon    God's    mercy    as    mere     weakness     or 

219 


indifference.  There  is  a  so-called  mercy  among  men 
which  is  cruelly  unjust  to  society.  It  is  that  mercy 
which  refuses  to  punish  crime,  which  deals  lightly  with 
defiant  lawlessness.  Nothing  is  more  dangerous,  noth- 
ing is  more  disturbing,  than  such  indiscriminate  indul- 
gence toward  wrong  doers.  We  have  had  examples  in 
high  places  here  in  our  own  city  of  that  sort  of  "  mercy" 
to  criminals, — examples  which  make  the  cheeks  of 
honest  men  tingle  with  shame  and  indignation.  Such  is 
not  the  mercy  of  God.  He  is  and  must  remain  forever 
just,  and  unless  he  can  find  some  way  to  reconcile  mercy 
with  justice,  mercy  must  stand  aside.  "Righteousness 
and  judgment  are  the  foundation  of  his  throne." 
Mercy  itself  is  cruel  if  it  strikes  at  those  everlasting 
foundations.  "  Be  just  before  you  are  generous,"  is  a 
saying  which  in  principle  holds  true  for  God  as  well 
as  man. 

But  how  can  mercy  be  reconciled  with  justice?  Are 
they  not  in  their  nature  contradictory  and  exclusive? 
If  we  take  justice  in  a  narrow  sense,  yes.  If  we  take 
it  in  a  large  sense,  no.  Looking  at  the  individual  sin- 
ner by  himself,  of  course  justice  and  mercy  do  exclude 
each  other.  If  he  receives  justice  he  can  not  receive 
mercy  and  vice  versa.  But  taking  justice  in  the  large 
sense,  of  that  which  conserves  the  interests  of  the 
whole  and  maintains  the  supremacy  of  righteousness, 
there  is  no  such  necessary  conflict.  If  God  had  not 
found  a  way  to  show  mercy  to  sinners  without  injustice 
to  the  universe,  he  would  have  shown  no  mercy  at  all. 
Such  a  way  God  did  find,  through  the  sacrifice  of  his 
only  begotten  son,  "  whom  God  had  set  forth  to  be  a 
propitiation,  through  faith  in  his  blood,  that  he  might 
be  just,  and  the  justifier  of  him  which  believeth  in 
Jesus." 

God's  mercy  is  a  righteous  mercy  because  it  is  not  a 
'220 


weak  indulgence  of  sin  nor  an  indiscriminate  pardon  of 
the  repentant,  but  offers  forgiveness  only  on  the  right- 
eous conditions  of  repentance  and  faith  in  an  atoning 
Saviour. 

Is  mercy  narrowed  by  these  conditions?  Not  by  a 
hair's  breadth.  On  the  contrary  "  that  mercy  is  bound- 
less." The  mind  of  man  cannot  grasp  it.  It  is  as  high 
as  heaven,  "  Thy  mercy  reacheth  unto  the  heavens  and 
thy  faithfulness  unto  the  clouds."  "As  the  heaven  is 
high  above  the  earth,  so  great  is  his  mercy  toward  them 
that  fear  him."  Words  like  these  assure  us  that  if  we 
will  but  comply  with  the  conditions  of  that  mercy  we 
shall  find  it  absolutely  without  limit.  As  the  highest 
mountains  are  overreached  by  the  heavens,  which  are 
still  infinitely  beyond  them,  so,  though  our  sins  were 
piled  mountain-high,  the  mercy  of  God  still  outreaches 
and  infinitely  surpasses  them. 

What!  are  you  afraid  that  your  sins  are  too  great 
for  God's  mercy  to  blot  out?  Then  are  you  not  also 
afraid  that,  as  the  earth  turns  over,  Mt.  Blanc  will 
knock  down  the  stars  from  the  sky?  That  mercy  is 
measureless  in  its  results.  "  As  far  as  the  east  is  from 
the  west  so  far  hath  he  removed  our  transgressions  from 
us."  How  far  is  that?  So  far  that  the  breadth  of  the 
universe  lies  between  them.  So  far  that  the  forgiven 
sinner  and  his  sins  can  never  be  brought  together. 

And  God's  mercy  is  measureless  in  its  duration.  "  I 
trust  in  the  mercy  of  God  forever  and  ever,"  sang  the 
Psalmist,  and  well  he  might,  for  "the  mercy  of  the 
Lord  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting  upon  them  that 
fear  him."  The  time  will  never  come  when  a  forgiven 
sinner  will  have  outlived  his  dependence  on  the  mercy 
of  God.  He  has  deserved  an  endless  doom  and  he 
stands  in  need  of  an  endless  mercy.  But  thank  God 
his  mercy  is  endless,  and  no  soul  that  trusts  in  it  will 

•221 


ever  find  that  refuge  to  fail. 

And  now,  my  friend,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
this  mercy  of  God? 

There  are  but  two  things  you  can  do  with  it, — accept 
it,  trust  it  forever,  on  God's  conditions,  just  as  they  are 
made  known  in  his  word,  or  reject  it  and  trample  it 
under  foot. 

There  is  no  third  alternative.  You  cannot  change 
the  conditions.  You  cannot  dictate  terms  to  the 
divine  mercy.  This  is  what  millions  are  trying  to  do. 
But  it  is  impossible.  Mercy  makes  its  own  terms. 
Take  it  as  it  is,  or  refuse  it.  To  build  your  hopes 
upon  the  mercy  of  God  while  persisting  in  sin  or  turn- 
ing your  back  upon  the  cross,  is  as  reckless  as  it  would 
be  for  a  conquered  army  to  expect  amnesty  while 
deliberately  violating  the  terms  of  surrender. 

Surely  you  are  not  insane  enough  to  spurn  God's 
mercy  altogether.  Surely  your  conscience  is  not  so 
dead  that  you  will  venture  to  throw  yourself  upon  the 
naked  sword  of  God's  justice. 

Then  there  is  but  one  thing  left,  to  come  penitently, 
believingly  to  the  foot  of  the  cross  and  seek  humbly  as 
a  sinner  for  the  mercy  of  God  in  Christ.  Will  you  do 
it?  You  cannot  come  too  soon.  To-day  mercy  invites; 
to-morrow  judgment  may  summon.  The  storm  is 
gathering.  You  need  a  refuge.  Yonder  is  the  Rock  of 
Ages.     Hide  in  it  now. 


222 


GOD  OUR  JUDGE. 

So  then  every  one  of  us  shall   give  account  of  himself  to 
God. — Rom.  14:  12. 

Somebody  once  asked  Daniel  Webster  what  was  the 
most  important  thought  that  ever  occupied  his  mind.  If 
there  was  anything  trifling  in  the  spirit  which  prompted 
the  question,  the  answer  must  have  effectually  startled  it 
away.  "The  most  important  thought  that  ever  occupied 
my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Webster  in  his  slow,  solemn  way, 
"was  the  thought  of  my  individual  responsibility  to 
God. "  That  is  the  thought  which  here  occupied  the  mind  of 
Paul,  and  which  in  these  weighty  words  he  seeks  to  lay 
upon  the  minds  of  his  readers,  "So  then  every  one  of  us 
shall  give  account  of  himself  to  God." 

This  fact  of  accountability  is  indeed  the  most  tre- 
mendous fact  of  existence.  Nothing  in  the  future,  not 
death  itself,  solemn  as  it  is,  can  compare  in  significance 
with  this  certainty  that  sometime,  somewhere,  you  and  I, 
every  one  of  us,  each  for  himself,  must  meet  God  face  to 
face,  and  give  an  account  of  every  deed,  every  word, 
every  thought. 

"This  burden  of  responsibility, 
Too  heavy  for  our  frail  humanity, 
Crushes  me  down  as  at  His  judgment  bar. 
Why  !  death  is  naught  to  this  !  If  we  should  pray, 
If  we  should  tremble  when  that  hour  draws  nigh. 
So  should  our  hearts  be  lifted  all  the  way, 
To  live  hath  greater  issues  than  to  die!" 

223 


There  flits  through  your  mind  in  a  moment  of  reflec- 
tion some  memory  of  the  past  which  you  hastily  brush 
aside,  saying  to  yourself:  "That  chapter  is  closed. 
There  was  much  in  it  that  was  bad  enough  ;  but  thank 
God  it  is  done  with  now!"  Done  with?  No,  not  done 
with.  That  closed  chapter  must  be  read  again,  every 
word.  Left  behind?  No,  not  left  behind,  but  gone  be- 
fore to  wait  for  you  at  the  bar  of  last  account.  Your 
whole  past  and  mine,  is  there  ;  and  every  day  brings  us 
nearer  to  the  hour  when  we  must  face  it.  Buried?  Aye, 
but  buried  where?  Buried  in  the  bosom  of  God,  who 
will  call  it  forth  in  his  own  time. 

No  wonder  men  shrink  from  this  thought  of  ac- 
countability and  often  seek  refuge  from  it  in  Atheism, 
Materialism,  Pantheism,  Fatalism, — anything,  in  short, 
that  effaces  the  personality  of  God,  or  destroys  the  free 
agency  of  man,  and  so  does  away  with  this  idea  of  an 
account  to  be  given.  For  in  fact  there  is  no  other  escape 
from  this  thought.  Accountability  is  involved  in  the 
very  essence  of  man's  relation  as  a  creature  to  God  as 
his  Creator.  Men  talk  sometimes  as  though  judgment 
were  an  arbitrary  thing,  a  prerogative  which  God  may 
lay  aside  if  he  pleases,  in  fact  a  wanton  exercise  of 
tyranny  of  which  a  God  of  love  can  hardly  be  thought 
capable.  Whereas,  in  truth  God  can  no  more  cease  to 
be  a  Judge  than  he  can  cease  to  be  a  Sovereign.  To  lay 
aside  his  prerogative  would  be  to  abdicate  his  throne. 
Given  a  Creator,  personal,  holy,  and  a  creature  endowed 
with  a  moral  nature,  i.  e. ,  knowing  good  and  evil  and 
free  to  choose  between  them,  and  judgment  by  that 
Creator  upon  the  conduct  of  that  creature  is  an  inevit- 
able necessity.  Judgment,  I  say,  and  remember  that 
this  judgment  by  the  Creator  means  two  things,  an 
estimate,  and  an  award  based  on  that  estimate. 

Judgment  in  the  former  sense  of  an  estimate  is  in- 
224 


separable  from  the  possession  of  a  moral  nature.  You 
and  I  cannot  regard  the  good  and  the  evil  with  the  same 
feelings,  and  the  higher  we  rise  ourselves  in  loftiness  and 
purity  of  character,  the  more  impossible  does  such  moral 
indifference  become. 

Judgment  in  the  latter  sense  of  an  award,  is  insep- 
arable from  the  possession  of  authority.  A  father  who 
puts  no  distinction  between  the  obedient  and  the  dis- 
obedient child,  shirks  the  very  first  responsibility  of 
fatherhood.  A  government  which  deals  a  like  with  the  law- 
abiding  and  the  law-defying  earns  for  itself  only  the  con- 
tempt of  both.  A  holy  God  who  has  brought  into  being 
creatures  capable  of  holiness  and  capable  of  sin  cannot 
regard  the  holy  and  the  sinful  with  the  same  feeling,  and 
he  cannot  justly  repress,  (unless  it  be  for  a  time,  in  the 
exercise  of  a  merciful  forbearance,)  the  expression  in  his 
dealings  with  them  of  the  opposite  feelings  with  which 
he  regards  them. 

The  nature  of  man  makes  judgment  a  necessity.  We 
say  of  man  that  he  is  a  responsible  being.  This  is  what 
distinguishes  him  from  the  brutes.  But  responsible 
means  answerable.  He  is  a  being  who  can  answer  for  his 
conduct,  who  can  be  held  to  an  account  of  himself,  be- 
cause he  is  free.  But  to  whom  is  he  answerable?  To 
himself?  Yes,  certainly.  He  must  answer  at  the  bar  of 
his  own  conscience  for  every  choice  he  makes.  But  that 
is  not  all.  To  whom  else?  To  society?  Yes,  assuredly. 
Society  has  a  right  to  hold  him  to  a  reckoning,  to  exact 
payment,  to  insist  upon  penalty  for  everything  in  his  con- 
duct which  harms  his  fellowman. 

But  that  is  not  all.  Beyond  both  these  tribunals 
there  is  another,  at  which  man  can  cease  to  be  answer- 
able only  when  it  ceases  to  be  in  his  power  to  do  right 
and  avoid  the  wrong, — the  tribunal  of  God  his  Maker. 
This  is  his  dignity,  this  is  his  distinction  as  a  being  made 

225 


in  God's  image,  that  he  is  capable  of  good  or  ill  desert, 
and  therefore  answerable  to  the  Judge  of  all. 

Our  own  conscience  demands  that  God  should  judge. 
It  demands  this  with  regard  to  others.  There  is  an  in- 
stinctive looking-for  of  divine  vengeance  to  overtake  the 
wicked,  so  strong  that  when  disappointed  it  recoils 
against  the  very  foundations  of  religious  faith.  The  pros- 
perity of  the  wicked  is  one  of  the  potent  arguments  of  the 
atheist.  So  Diogenes  long  ago  complained  that  the  suc- 
cess of  Harpalus  in  his  treachery  would  witness  against 
the  gods,  and  the  infidel  lecturer  of  to-day  points  to  his 
own  unpunished  blasphemies  as  proof  that  there  is  no 
God.  The  fact  that  in  the  world  we  see  no  equal  and 
exact  judgment  has  always  been  one  of  the  great  stum- 
bling blocks  to  faith.  It  is  the  difficulty  stated  with  such 
power  in  the  Book  of  Ecclesiastes,  for  which  the  royal 
sceptic  found  refuge  only  in  the  assured  expectation  of 
such  a  judgment  hereafter,  so  sure  are  we  that  a  God  who 
does  not  judge,  is  really  no  God  at  all.  And  the  same 
conscience  which  thus  demands  judgment  upon  others 
teaches  us  to  look  for  it  for  ourselves.  That  deep  fore- 
boding of  judgment  to  come  it  is  which  makes  us  shrink 
back  from  the  mystery  of  death,  and  clothes  an  unknown 
eternity  with  dread.  That  voice  within  which  utters  its 
stern  "You  ought,  you  must,"  witnesses  to  my  soul  of  a 
God  above  who  lent  to  that  voice  its  authority,  and  to 
whom,  sooner  or  later,  I  must  answer  for  every  deed, 
every  word,  every  thought. 

Let  us  try  to  grasp  this  fact.  There  is  much  in  the 
drapery  of  it,  in  the  plan,  the  time,  the  manner  of  this 
accounting  that  is  shadowy  and  mysterious.  But  the 
fact  is  as  simple  and  intelligible  as  it  is  solemn.  Here 
are  two  beings,  God  and  I.  We  are  not  unknown  to 
each  other.  God  knows  me  altogether,  for  he  made  me. 
He  gave  me  life  and  gave  it  for  an  end  of  his  own.      He 

226 


gave  me  reason  and  endowed  me  with  gifts  and  powers 
in  the  use  of  which  I  might  seek  that  end.  And  he  has 
made  himself  known  to  me  in  conscience  and  in  his 
word.      He  has  given  me  a  perfect  law  to  be   my  guide. 

And  the  time  will  come  when  for  my  use  of  that  be 
ing  and  those  powers  which  he  gave,  for  my  obedience 
or  disobedience  to  that  law  which  he  revealed,  for  my 
reaching  or  failing  of  that  for  which  he  made  me,  I 
must  give  account  to  him.  He  is  just.  He  holds  the 
balance  exactly  true.  There  is  no  bias,  no  partiality,  no 
respect  of  persons  with  him. 

He  knows  all, — every  act,  every  word,  every 
thought,  every  wish,  every  motive.  All  the  palliations 
of  my  conduct  are  known  to  him  ;  the  inherited  weak- 
ness, the  infirmity  of  the  flesh,  the  strength  of  the  temp- 
tation. But  so  also  are  all  the  aggravations,  the  light 
disregarded,  the  warnings  of  parents  and  teachers  des- 
pised, the  pleadings  of  the  still  small  voice  unheeded. 

He  has  all  power.  The  sentence  which  he  passes 
he  is  able  to  execute.  Resistance  on  my  part  will  be 
worse  than  idle.  He  is  supreme.  There  will  be  no  ap- 
peal from  his  judgment.  No  power  can  reverse  his  sen- 
tence and  no  hand  can  stay  its  execution.  And  he  is 
everywhere.  Many  a  transgressor  of  human  law  gives 
justice  the  slip  by  suicide.  But  God  is  on  the  other  side 
of  the  grave  as  well  as  on  this.  To  seek  by  suicide  to 
escape  his  judgment  would  be  as  if  one  should  betake 
himself  to  the  other  side  of  the  ocean  to  escape  the  pen- 
alty of  a  crime  committed  in  this  land,  only  to  meet,  as  he 
steps  ashore,  the  officers  of  the  law,  whom  the  telegraph 
has  informed  of  his  flight  and  who  are  ready  to  hand 
him  over  at  once  to  offended  justice. 

Such  is  the  Judge  to  whom  we  must  give  account. 
And  these  perfections  assure  us  that  that  judgment  will 
be  just,  searching,    resistless,    final,    inevitable.      And  in 

227 


that  judgment  every  one  of  us  must  stand  practically 
alone.  Though  the  whole  universe  should  be  summoned 
together  before  that  tribunal,  it  will  make  no  difference. 
Every  one  of  us  will  have  his  own  past  to  face,  his  own 
soul  to  answer  for,  his  own  eternal  destiny  to  be  fixed  by 
his  own  decisions.  "  If  thou  be  wise,  thou  shalt  be  wise 
for  thyself  ;  but  if  thou  scornest  thou  alone  shalt 
bear  it." 

"  Every  one  of  us  shall  give  account  of  himself  to 
God."  Many  influences  may  have  helped  to  make  or 
mar  us.  Many  others  may  be  entitled  to  share  in  the 
credit  or  in  the  blame.  But  ultimately  each  man's  life 
is  in  his  own  hands  ;  each  man's  character  is  the  fruit  of 
his  own  choices,  and  each  must  give  his  own  account. 
If  another  has  tempted  me  to  sin  he  must  answer  for  it, 
and  God  will  hold  him  to  the  same  strict  account,  whether 
the  temptation  was  successful  or  unsuccessful.  But  I 
must  answer  for  myself  alone  as  to  whether  that  tempta- 
tion was  yielded  to,  or  overcome.  The  man,  the  woman, 
the  serpent  all  shared  in  the  guilt  of  the  first  sin,  but 
each  had  an  individual  account  to  render  and  an  individ- 
ual sentence  to  receive. 

Now  we  must  distinguish  carefully  between  this  fact 
as  it  is  in  itself,  and  the  aspect  which  it  wears  to  a  dis- 
turbed conscience.  To  a  sinner  the  thought  of  God  as  a 
judge  cannot  but  be  a  thought  of  terror.  But  in  itself 
that  judgment  is  a  thing  to  rejoice  in.  The  criminal  on 
trial  for  his  life,  as  he  looks  at  the  judge  before  whom  he 
is  arraigned,  may  feel  his  knees  smite  together  with  fear. 
That  judge  appears  to  him  an  enemy  by  whom  his  life  is 
endangered.  But  the  citizens  who  watch  the  progress 
of  the  trial,  who  observe  how  evenly  the  balance  is  held, 
how  calmly  and  dispassionately  the  facts  are  inquired 
into,  and  how  gravely  and  sorrowfully  sentence  is  pro- 
nounced, see  in  that  same  judge  the  embodied  majesty  of 

228 


law,  the  refuge  of  innocence,  the  support  of  liberty  and 
order. 

What  sort  of  a  world  would  this  be  to  live  in,  if 
there  were  no  righteous  Judge  upon  the  throne  ?  Who 
could  endure  the  constant  spectacle  of  unpunished  vil- 
lains and  unrighted  wrongs,  if  he  did  not  know  that 
because  God  is  a  God  of  judgment  these  things  must  end 
sometime  ? 

What  would  life  be  worth  if  instead  of  being  a  trust 
from  a  Creator's  hand  to  be  accounted  for  to  him  who 
gave  it,  and  gloriously  rewarded  if  rightly  used,  it  were 
a  mere  accident,  so  to  speak,  without  purpose  and  with- 
out result  ?  There  is  nothing  which  gives  to  life  greater 
dignity  than  the  knowledge  that  it  is  a  gift  so  precious 
and  so  measureless  in  its  possibilities  that  God  himself 
will  make  strict  inquiry  as  to  its  use.  Better  a  thousand 
times  the  certainty  of  judgment  with  the  possibility  of 
eternal  life  beyond,  than  the  certainty  of  no  judgment, 
the  irresponsible  life  of  the  sparrow  or  the  butterfly, 
with  nothing  beyond  it  but  an  infinite  blank.  And  this 
is  the  alternative.  Privilege  carries  with  it  responsibil- 
ity. Fellowship  with  God  is  possible  only  to  beings  en- 
dowed with  that  moral  nature  which  makes  them  ac- 
countable. Eternal  life  is  the  crown  of  moral  victory 
won. 

Society  pays  a  tribute  to  the  dignity  of  manhood  in 
every  court  of  justice  which  it  establishes.  Why  is  it 
that  when  a  fox  steals  chickens  or  a  tiger  kills  a  man  we 
shoot  it  without  ceremony,  but  when  a  man  steals  or  kills 
we  put  him  on  trial  with  every  safeguard  for  the  meeting 
out  of  exact  justice  ?  It  is  because  we  recognize  the 
worth  of  a  man  as  an  accountable  being.  And  this  is 
what  makes  the  sin  and  the  shame  of  lynch  law,  that  it 
deals  with  accountable  men  as  if  they  were  dangerous 
brutes  to  be  put  out  of  the  way  by  sheer  butchery  with- 
out law  or  justice.  229 


Not  only  does  this  fact  of  an  account  to  be  given  to 
God  lend  meaning  and  worth  to  life  as  a  whole,  but  to 
every  trivial  act  and  detail  of  life.  Nothing  is  unimport- 
ant which  God  thinks  worthy  of  record  in  his  book  of 
remembrance  and  of  review  before  his  judgment-bar. 

You  know  the  story  of  Huss,  that  when  examined 
by  the  inquisitors  he  at  first  answered  carelessly  and 
without  reflection  ;  but  that  suddenly  hearing  the  scratch- 
ing of  a  pen  behind  a  screen,  and  perceiving  that  his 
words  were  being  written  down,  he  began  at  once  to 
weigh  them  with  the  uttermost  care.  When  Jesus  said, 
"For  every  idle  word  that  a  man  shall  speak  he 
shall  give  account  thereof  at  the  day  of  judgment,"  he 
meant  to  teach  and  he  did  teach  that  there  is  nothing  in 
life  so  small  as  to  be  unimportant  or  unmeaning. 

This  thought  of  God  as  our  Judge  is  not  only  an 
ennobling  but  a  liberating  thought.  It  sets  men  free  at 
once  from  all  forms  of  time-serving  and  sycophancy, 
from  the  tyranny  of  majorities  and  bondage  to  public 
opinion. 

What  a  manly  independence,  what  a  noble  freedom 
was  that  of  Paul  when  he  said  to  the  Corinthians,  "  To 
me  it  is  a  small  thing  that  I  should  be  judged  of  you  or 
of  men's  judgment.  Yea,  I  judge  not  mine  own  self  ; 
but  he  that  judgeth  me  is  the  Lord." 

Such  independence  is  essential  to  any  really  worthy 
life.  The  man  who  dares  not  stand  alone,  who  dares  not 
be  true  to  his  own  convictions  of  duty  in  the  face  of 
popular  clamor,  is  a  coward  and  a  slave.  The  vessel 
that,  without  rudder,  drifts  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and  cur- 
rents is  destined  to  wreck  at  last.  And  the  life  that  without 
the  government  of  a  controlling  sense  of  duty  is  swayed 
this  way  and  that  by  the  shifting  breezes  of  human  opin- 
ion is  destined  to  the  same  fate.  But  the  voice  of  the 
multitude  is  powerful.      To  stand  alone  against  it   needs 

230 


bracing  by  a  mighty  thought.  Sometimes  men  gain  a 
measure  of  this  freedom  by  setting  over  against  the 
clamor  of  to-day  the  thought  of  the  calmer  judgment  of 
to-morrow.  But  the  judgment  of  posterity  is  uncertain, 
and  it  has  besides  this  drawback  that  he  who  appeals  to 
it  will  not  be  there  to  hear  its  verdict.  It  is  the  thought 
of  God's  judgment  that  sets  us  truly  free.  He  who  car- 
ries with  him  the  ever  present  consciousness  of  an  ac- 
count to  be  given  to  God,  will  care  very  little  for  human 
praise  or  human  blame. 

There  is  sustaining  power  also  in  this  truth  that  God 
is  to  be  our  Judge.  There  is  no  element  of  the  unap- 
'  proachable  human  character  of  Jesus  more  marvelous 
than  his  patience.  Never  was  he  provoked  by  misrepre- 
sentation, opposition,  persecution,  insult,  anguish,  to  so 
much  as  even  a  single  revengful  act  or  angry  word.  He 
suffered  unto  death  without  once  taking  his  cause  into  his 
own  hands  or  lifting  a  finger  to  strike  back.  Would  you 
know  the  secret  of  that  amazing  patience.  His  disciple 
will  tell  it  to  you.  "  When  he  was  reviled  he  reviled 
not  again  ;  when  he  suffered  he  threatened  not,  but  com- 
mitted himself  to  him  that  judgeth  righteously."  On  the 
certainty  of  that  judgment  he  rested.  For  that  he  was 
content  to  wait. 

The  communities  in  which  there  is  least  of  private 
revenge  and  lawless  resort  to  force  are  those  in  which 
the  administration  of  public  justice  is  surest  and  most 
impartial.  Men  are  willing  to  wait  and  to  endure  in  pro- 
portion as  they  see  that  they  can  safely  leave  their  cause 
in  other  hands  stronger  and  steadier  than  their  own.  So 
when  we  look  above  all  human  tribunals,  even  the  most 
august,  to  a  throne  of  absolute  justice  and  of  infinite 
power,  before  which  every  strife  must  be  adjusted  and 
every  wrong  set  right,  then  it  is  that  we  learn  to  suffer 
wrong  with   meekness   and    in  silence,    and  to    wait   in 

231 


Calmness  and  in  patience  for  the  righteous  judgment    of 
God. 

Again  the  thought  of  God's  judgment  inspires  char- 
ity and  forbearance  in  our  judgments  of  our  fellows. 
This  is  the  particular  use  the  Apostle  is  seeking  to  make 
of  it  here.  "So  then  every  one  of  us  shall  give  account  of 
himself  to  God.  Let  us  not  therefore  judge  one  another 
any  more.  But  judge  this  rather,  that  no  man  put  a 
stumbling  block  or  an  occasion  to  fall  in  his  brother's 
way." 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  we  cannot  help  judging 
our  fellowmen.  We  cannot  help  regulating  our  dealings 
with  them  by  some  estimate  of  their  character.  But  it  is- 
God  alone  to  whom  they  are  accoutable.  He  alone  has 
the  material  for  a  just  judgment.  The  underlying  mo- 
tives, the  stress  of  temptation,  the  earnestness  of  the 
struggle,  which  must  all  be  taken  account  of  in  such  a 
judgment  are  hidden  from  all  but  God.  If  there  were  no 
judge  up  there,  perhaps  it  might  be  necessary  for  us  ill- 
equipped  as  we  are  for  the  work  to  assume  some  pre- 
rogative of  judgment.  But  since  there  is  such  a  judge 
we  may  well  leave  our  fellowmen  in  his  hands.  There  is 
responsibility  enough  for  each  of  us  in  preparing  for  the 
account  we  must  render  for  ourselves.  Aye,  when  we 
consider  what  measure  of  clemency  and  forbearance  in 
that  judgment  we  ourselves  shall  need,  and  remember 
that  word,  "With  what  judgment  ye  judge,  ye  shall  be 
judged,"  how  dare  we  be  exacting  and  severe  in  our 
judgment  of  our  fellow  servants. 

It  is  clear  then  that  if  we  could  but  be  delivered 
from  those  personal  fears  which  to  a  guilty  conscience 
are  inseparable  from  the  thought  of  God's  searching  judg- 
ment, that  thought  would  bring  nothing  but  comfort  and 
strength  and  inspiration  to  our  souls.  But  ah,  that  iff 
The  past  is  past.    No  tears,  no  prayers,  no  promises  can 

232 


change  one  line  of  the  unalterable  record.  And  there  is 
enough  in  that  past,  even  with  the  best  of  us  all  that  may 
well  make  us  afraid  when  we  think  of  meeting  a  holy 
God. 

Who  of  us  dare  say  that,  when  called  to  that  last 
account,  he  can  meet  the  summons  in  the  confidence  of 
stainless  integrity,  and  await  as  his  due  an  approving 
judgment?  Not  one.  "  For  all  have  sinned  and  come 
short  of  the  glory  of  God." 

Well  then,  if  we  cannot  have  this  confidence,  is 
there  any  other  confidence  that  can  divest  that  great  day 
of  its  terrors?  Yes,  there  is.  Though  the  best  of  men 
cannot  hold  up  his  head  before  that  bar  and  plead  "Not 
guilty,"  the  very  chief  of  sinners  may  there  hold  up  his 
head  and  plead,  "  Christ  died  for  me."  The  soul  that  is 
hidden  in  Christ  has  nothing  to  fear  even  from  the  most 
searching  judgment  of  God.  None  need  ever  fear  to  face 
God  as  his  Judge,  who  has  learned  to  know  God  as  his 
Saviour.  You  remember  that  when  the  three  Hebrews 
were  cast,  at  Nebuchadnezzar's  command,  into  the  fiery 
furnace,  his  servants  beheld  them  with  amazement  walk- 
ing in  that  white  heat  unharmed,  and  with  them  a  fourth 
like  unto  the  Son  of  God.  So  the  soul  that  has  the  Son 
of  God  for  its  companion  and  protector  will  walk  un- 
scathed amid  the  consuming  fire  of  that  last  tremendous 
day.  '•  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin." 
The  soul  that  has  been  washed  in  this  blood  will  stand 
spotless  as  the  purest  angel  before  that  bar. 

And  so,  hidden  in  that  refuge,  washed  in  that  crim- 
son fountain,  it  is  possible  for  the  child  of  God  to  look 
up  and  rejoice  that  God  is  a  Judge,  to  say,  as  one  did  say, 
when  told  that  some  were  looking  for  the  judgment  as 
close  at  hand,  "  If  I  were  sure  that  the  day  of  judgment 
were  to  come  within  an  hour,  I  should  be  glad  with  all  my 
heart.    If  at  this  very  instant  I  should  hear  such  thunder- 

233 


ings  and  see  such  lightnings  as  Israel  did  at  Mt  Sinai,   I 
am  persuaded  my  very  heart  would  leap  for  joy." 

With  the  Psalmist  of  old  such  an  one  can  sing: 
"  Make  a  joyful  noise  before  Jehovah  the  King.  Let  the 
sea  roar  and  the  fulness  thereof,  and  the  world  and  they 
that  dwell  therein.  Let  the  floods  clap  their  hands  and 
the  world  and  they  that  dwell  therein.  Let  the  floods 
clap  their  hands  and  the  hills  be  joyful  together  before 
Jehovah,  for  he  cometh  to  judge  the  earth.  With  right- 
eousness shall  he  judge  the  world  and  the  people  with 
his  truth." 


234 


CALVARY    INTERPRETED    BY  ITSELF. 

JVozv  from  the  sixth  hour  there  was  darkness  over  all  the  land 
unto  the  ninth  hour.  .  lud  about  the  ninth  hour  Jesus  cried  with  a 
loud  voice,  saying:  Eli,  Eli,  lama  sabaehthani?  that  is  to  say: 
My  God,  My  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?  Some  of  them 
that  stood  there,  when  they  heard  that,  said:  7 his  man  ealleth  for 
Elias.  And  straitway  one  of  them  ran  and  took  a  sponge  and 
filled  it  with  vinegar  and  put  it  on  a  reed  and  gave  him  to  drink. 
The  rest  said:  Let  be:  let  us  see  whether  Elias  will  come  to  save 
him.  Jesus,  when  he  had  cried  again  with  a  loud  voice,  yielded 
up  the  Ghost.  And  behold  the  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in  twain 
from  the  top  to  the  bottom';  and  the  earth  did  quake  and  the  rocks 
rent,  and  the  graves  were  opened;  and  many  bodies  of  the  saints 
which  slept  arose  and  came  out  of  the  graves  after  his  resurrec- 
tion and  went  into  the  holy  city,  and  appeared  unto  many  — 
Matt.  27:45-53. 

Who  can  read  this  story  of  Calvary  without  feeling 
that  he  is  looking  into  a  great  deep  of  mystery.  That 
which  caused  careless  on-lookers  who  no  doubt  had 
gazed  with  morbid  and  unfeeling  curiosity  upon  many 
a  public  execution  to  turn  homeward  in  silence  and 
with  smitten  breast,  and  drew  from  the  stern  Roman 
centurion,  inured  to  spectacles  of  judicial  torture,  the 
awed  confession:  "Truly  this  was  the  Son  of  God," 
was  no  common  incident  such  as  a  thousand  times  had 
stained  the  pages  of  history,  of  judicial  murder  to 
appease  a  popular  clamor. 

Something  is  here  unique,  awful,  —which  constrains 
us  to  pause  before  it  and  ask,  What  meaneth  this? 
One  of  the  most  impressive  deaths  recorded  in  history 
is  that  of  Socrates  as  it  is  drawn  by  the  master  hand  of 

235 


his  great  disciple.  But  place  it  side  by  side  with  this 
story  of  Calvary,  and  who  but  must  cry  with  unbeliev- 
ing yet  honest  Rousseau:  "Socrates  died  like  a  philos- 
opher, but  Jesus  Christ  died  like  a  God." 

One  of  the  most  painfully  impressive  things  in  life 
is  the  indifference  of  nature  to  human  anguish  and 
human  guilt.  Generation  after  generation  has  made 
the  earth  to  reek  with  crimes  and  cruelties  the  very  tale 
of  which  if  told  without  concealment  were  enough  to 
freeze  the  blood  in  human  veins;  yet  the  old  globe  has 
rolled  on  without  a  tremor,  like  the  fairest  planet  in  the 
sky,  and  still  the  seasons  come  and  go;  spring  spreads 
over  all  its  gay  carpet  of  flowers,  and  winter  shrouds 
all  in  its  mantle  of  spotless  white;  and  from  all  nature 
there  is  no  sign  of  horror  or  of  sympathy.  While  dun- 
geon walls  echo  and  reecho  with  the  shrieks  of  tortured 
victims  the  still  glory  of  the  dawn  creeps  up  the  sky. 
The  sun  looks  smiling  down  and  floods  with  noontide 
splendor  the  scene  where  martyrs  breathe  out  their 
souls  in  flame,  and  sets  in  all  his  glory  of  crimson  and 
gold  upon  battlefields  where  truth  and  justice  and  free- 
dom have  been  crushed  out  in  blood.  And  over  the 
field  of  carnage  on  which  the  wounded  writhe  in  lonely 
anguish  and  the  dying  call  in  vain  for  a  cup  of  water  to 
moisten  their  parched  lips,  the  stars  look  down  with  the 
same  undimmed  eyes  and  the  moon  sails  on  in  the  same 
silvery  brightness  as  over  the  bowers  where  lovers 
whisper  their  vows  or  the  cottages  in  which  mothers 
croon  infants'  lullabies. 

But  here  is  one  who  dies  and  above  his  cross  the 
heavens  veil  themselves  in  blackness,  and  at  his  expir- 
ing cry  the  earth  shudders  to  its  foundation!  It  is 
nature's  response  to  the  supreme  court  of  history. 
And  yet  not  nature's. 

The  skies  had  no  eyes  to  see  that  uplifted  cross. 
236 


The  earth  had  no  ears  to  hear  that  dying  cry.  It  is  the 
response  of  the  God  of  nature,  signifying  by  super- 
natural signs  his  presence  and  his  sympathy  at  the 
death  of  His  beloved  Son. 

In  the  threefold  miracle,  of  the  darkness,  the  rent 
veil,  the  opened  graves  which  accompanied  the  cruci- 
fixion of  Jesus  we  have  God's  witness  to  the  supreme 
importance  and  God's  hints  of  the  inner  meaning  of 
that  event. 

Miracle  I  call  it.  For  there  can  be  no  alternative 
between  denying  the  veracity  of  this  narrative  and 
admitting  the  supernatural  character  of  these  three 
accompaniments  of  the  tragedy  of  Calvary. 

It  was  no  eclipse  that  darkened  the  heavens;  for  the 
passover  moon,  then  at  its  full,  rose  that  evening  in  the 
east  as  the  sun  was  setting  in  the  west.  It  was  no 
earthquake  that  rent  the  veil  of  the  temple  in  twain 
from  its  top  to  the  bottom.  Earthquakes  rend  rocks 
and  overthrow  solid  walls,  but  they  cannot  rend  asunder 
loosely  suspended  tapestry. 

The  earthquake  itself,  opening  the  rock-hewn 
sepulchres  round  about  Jerusalem  was  no  mere  natural 
coincidence,  frequent  as  such  things  are  round  that 
Dead  Sea  region.  For  though  a  convulsion  of  nature 
might  rend  the  sepulchres,  it  could  not  reanimate  the 
dust  they  held,  to  walk  the  streets  of  the  holy  city. 

These  signs  were  supernatural,  and  they  had  a 
meaning.  They  were  not  arbitrary  signs,  simply  to  call 
the  attention  of  the  universe  to  what  was  there  taking 
place.  They  were  a  revelation  from  God,  —  answering 
to  the  revelation  of  his  book  and  through  the  lips  of 
Jesus  himself,  all  pointing  in  one  direction,  all  pointing 
to  the  glorious  mystery  of  vicarious  sacrifice  as  the  cen- 
tral meaning  of  the  cross,  —  and  confirming  the  testi- 
mony of  the  divine  Sufferer  himself:   "The  Son  of  Man 

237 


came  to  give  his  life  a  ransom  for  many." 

We  may  call  them,  taken  together:  Calvary  inter- 
preted by  itself.  It  is  true  that  these  signs  taken  by 
themselves  would  be  an  insecure  basis  on  which  to 
build  up  a  theology  of  the  cross.  When  God  wishes  to 
convey  new  truth,  above  all,  truth  on  which  the  soul's 
salvation  hangs,  he  does  it  in  words  too  plain  to  be 
misunderstood.  Yet  when  we  find  supernatural  events 
responding  to  the  inspired  words,  the  very  heaven  and 
earth  as  it  were  pointing  to  the  cross,  and  echoing  the 
words  of  the  last  of  the  prophets:  "Behold  the  Lamb 
of  God,  that  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world,"  the 
witness  comes  home  to  us  with  a  solemnity  and  impres- 
siveness  that  nothing  else  could  give. 

Look  then  with  me  at  this  threefold  supernatural 
witness  to  the  meaning  of  Calvary. 

i.  It  begins  with  that  mysterious  darkness.  "  Now 
from  the  sixth  hour  there  was  darkness  over  all  the  land 
until  the  ninth  hour.  And  about  the  ninth  hour  Jesus 
cried  with  a  loud  voice,  saying:  Eli,  Eli,  lama  sabach- 
thani;  that  is  to  say:  My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou 
forsaken  me?  " 

Surely  this  darkness  has  been  nothing  else  than  the 
frown  of  God,  the  outward  symbol  of  his  awful  dis- 
pleasure against  sin.  It  might  well  seem  to  be  directed 
against  the  impious  city  that  had  rejected  its  King  with 
the  cry,  Crucify  him!  Crucify  him!  —  to  be  the  dark 
shadow  of  the  doom  already  hanging  over  that  city  for 
this  its  crowning  guilt,  and  soon  to  fall  with  crushing 
weight.  Or  it  might  seem  to  be  directed  against  the 
world,  the  depth  of  whose  fall  and  apostacy  from  God 
was  first  fully  revealed  in  this  its  impious  murder  of 
one  whose  only  crime  was  that  he  was  sinless.  But 
that  cry  of  Jesus  himself,  uttered  just  as  the  darkness 
was  passing  away,  and  put  by  both  Matthew  and  Mark 

238 


in  close  and  evident  connection  with  it,  points  to  a 
still  deeper  and  more  awful  meaning.  It  points  to  a 
hiding  of  God's  face  from  his  own  Son.  "  My  God, 
my  God,  why  didst  thou  forsake  me?"  is  the  closer, 
more  literal  rendering,  which  points  to  a  darkness  in 
the  soul  of  the  Redeemer  already  passing  away  with  the 
outward  darkness  which  was  its  mysterious  reflection. 
During  that  darkness  he  had  been  silent.  What  the 
experience,  what  the  inner  struggle  of  that  soul  was 
during  those  three  awful  hours  no  human  imagination 
can  ever  fathom.  Only  when  it  passed  away  with  the 
outward  darkness  that  so  fitly  symbolized  it,  and  there 
came  again  to  that  mysterious  and  patient  sufferer  the 
sense  of  his  Father's  presence  and  his  Father's  love, 
did  he  give  a  hint  of  what  it  had  been,  uttering  him- 
self, as  God-fearing  souls  ever  love  to  do,  in  the 
inspired  words  of  that  treasure-house  of  devotional 
utterance  fitted  to  every  phase  of  spiritual  experience, 
the  Psalms  of  David.  But  in  that  cry;  "  My  God,  my 
God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?  "  there  was  more  than 
an  apt  use  of  Scripture  language.  There  was  an  appli- 
cation of  Messianic  prophecy.  These  were  the  open- 
ing words  of  a  Messianic  Psalm,  in  which  the  agony  of 
the  cross  is  portrayed  with  a  minuteness  scarce  sur- 
passed by  the  gospels  themselves. 

In  that  utterance  then,  thus  deliberately  supplied  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  centuries  before,  and  deliberately  ap- 
plied by  Jesus  himself  to  the  unfathomable  experience 
of  those  silent  hours,  we  have  the  interpretation  of  that 
supernatural  darkness. 

That  darkness  was  indeed  the  frown  of  God,  the 
outward  symbol  of  his  awful  displeasure  against  sin,  — 
but  a  frown  directed  toward  the  sin-bearer,  the  symbol 
of  that  hiding  from  him  of  God's  face  which  was  the 
bitterest  drop  in  the  cup  of  vicarious  suffering. 

239 


Once  lose  sight  of  the  truth  that  Jesus  was  there 
offering  himself  a  sacrifice,  bearing  our  sins  in  his  own 
body  on  the  tree,  and  a  cry  like  this  becomes  inexpli- 
cable, the  one  blemish  in  that  matchless  scene,  the  one 
contradiction,  utterly  irreconcilable  with  the  steadfast 
courage,  the  unfaltering  submission,  and  the  unshaken 
faith  revealed  in  every  other  act  and  word  of  that  heroic 
sufferer.  Either  God  did  actually  hide  his  face  from 
his  Son,  either  Christ  did  suffer  in  that  hour  the  sense 
of  separation  from  God,  unspeakably  more  dreadful 
than  any  bodily  anguish,  which  is  sin's  supreme  penalty, 
or  else  we  can  make  nothing  of  this  cry  but  the  inco- 
herent utterance  of  tottering  reason  or  of  reeling  faith. 

Either  God  did  actually  withdraw  from  his  Son  the 
sense  of  his  presence  and  support,  or  else  Jesus  momen- 
tarily lost  his  hold  upon  all  this  through  the  failure  of 
his  self-possession  or  a  temporary  eclipse  of  his  faith  in 
God.  To  say  this  would  be  to  impute  to  him  a  weak- 
ness to  which  many  of  his  followers  have  risen  superior, 
who  have  passed  triumphant  through  all  the  agonies  of 
martyrdom  with  songs  upon  their  lips  not  for  one 
instant  losing  their  consciousness  of  God's  nearness  or 
their  trust  in  his  faithfulness. 

But  if  that  hiding  of  God's  face  was  real,  then  but 
one  explanation  of  it  is  possible.  Christ  was  taking 
the  sinner's  place.  He  was  suffering  the  darkness  of 
God's  frown  that  you  and  I  might  walk  forever  in  the 
light  of  God's  countenance.  And  that  darkness  over 
the  land  was  the  symbol  of  the  more  awful  darkness 
enshrouding  his  soul  as  he  tasted  death  for  every  man.. 

2.  If  this  was  true,  if  our  sins  were  indeed  laid 
upon  this  sinless  Lamb  of  God,  then  they  must  have 
been  put  away  completely  and  forever.  Then  the  way 
must  be  fully  open  for  sinners  to  return  to  God.  So 
indeed  it  was,  and  this,  too,  had  its  supernatural  attest- 

210 


ation  following  close  upon  the  other.  "Jesus,  when  he 
had  cried  again  with  a  loud  voice  yielded  up  the  Ghost, 
and  behold  the  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in  twain 
from  the  top  to  the  bottom."  The  words  of  that  dying 
cry  Matthew  does  not  give;  but  John  has  recorded  them. 
"When  Jesus,  therefore  had  received  the  vinegar  he 
said:  'It  is  finished!'  and  bowed  his  head  and  gave  up 
the  Ghost." 

"  It  is  finished!  "  The  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in 
twain.  Surely  it  needs  no  interpreter  to  unfold  the 
meaning  of  a  sign  so  eloquent.  We  have  only  to  recall 
what  this  veil  itself  was,  and  what  it  stood  for  in  the 
God-given  symbolism  of  the  tabernacle  to  see  in  an 
instant  what  was  meant  when  God's  own  hand  rent  it 
asunder.  That  veil  was  the  curtain  which  closed  the 
entrance  to  the  Holy  of  Holies,  the  presence  chamber 
of  Jehovah,  where  on  the  mercy  seat  between  the  cher- 
ubim rested,  till  the  sins  of  the  people  grieved  it  away, 
the  Shechinah,  the  luminous  cloud  which  was  the  vis- 
ible symbol  of  his  presence  with  the  covenant  people. 
To  that  presence  the  veil  barred  the  way.  It  was  a 
perpetual  proclamation  to  the  worshiping  people  in  the 
courts  without,  that  sinful  man  is  not  fit  to  enter  the 
presence  of  a  holy  God.  One  hand  alone  might  lift 
that  veil,— the  hand  of  the  high  priest,  the  appointed 
mediator  for  sinners, —  and  that  but  once  a  year,  when 
he  entered  with  the  blood  of  the  sin-offering  by  which 
atonement  had  been  made  for  the  sins  of  the  people,  to 
sprinkle  with  it  the  mercy  seat.  Thus  that  veil,  hanging 
before  the  mercy  seat  as  at  once  a  doorway  and  a  barrier, 
shutting  out  the  worshipers  from  the  immediate  pres- 
ence of  God,  and  yet  admitting  one  to  intercede  for 
them  and  present  on  their  behalf  the  atoning  blood, 
spoke  at  once  of  reconciliation  possible  and  of  recon- 
ciliation incomplete.      It  spoke  of  God's  gracious  pur- 

211 


pose  toward  man,  and  yet  it  proclaimed  man's  need  of 
a  more  thorough  cleansing  from  guilt  than  any  which 
those  typical  sacrifices  could  effect.  After  the  sacrifice 
had  been  offered,  after  the  blood  had  been  sprinkled, 
the  veil  was  still  there. 

"The  Holy  Ghost  this  signifying,"  says  the  Epistle 
to  the  Hebrews,  "that  the  way  into  the  Holiest  was 
not  yet  made  manifest." 

When  then  that  veil  was  rent  by  God's  own  hand  it 
proclaimed  more  loudly  than  even  a  voice  from  heaven 
could  have  proclaimed  it,  that  atonement  was  at  last 
"finished,"  that  a  sufficient  sacrifice  had  at  length  been 
offered  "once  for  all,"  that  the  old  preparatory  dispen- 
sation was  done  away  and  that  henceforth  there  was  free 
access  for  every  penitent  sinner  to  the  mercy-seat  of 
the  King  of  Kings.  No  need  now  for  any  farther 
bloody  sacrifices.  No  need  now  for  any  human  priest. 
The  rending  of  the  temple  veil  was  God's  response  on 
the  instant,  his  seal  set  without  delay  to  that  cry  from 
the  cross,  "  It  is  finished."  If  the  darkness  over  all  the 
land  proclaimed  the  awful  reality  of  Christ's  vicarious 
suffering,  the  rent  veil  proclaimed  its  glorious  suffi- 
ciency. The  penalty  has  been  borne;  the  atonement 
has  been  accepted;  henceforth  for  all  who  trust  in  that 
atonement  the  way  to  the  mercy-seat  is  open   and   free. 

3.  But  if  these  two  things  are  true,  if  sin's  penalty 
has  been  borne,  and  if  the  way  to  God  is  now  open  and 
free,  then  we  look  for  a  removal  of  the  curse.  The 
sentence,  "Dust  thou  art  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou 
return,"  must  be  revoked  or  the  work  of  Calvary  will 
not  be  complete. 

But  here  again  God  bears  a  mighty  witness  in  the 
third  miraculous  event  of  that  wonderful  day.  "And 
the  earth  did  quake  and  the  rocks  rent,  and  the  graves 
were  opened  and  many  bodies  of  the  saints  which  slept 

242 


arose  and  came  out  of  the  graves  after  his  ressurection. " 

Here  is  more  than  a  mere  shudder  of  nature  at  the 
expiring  groan  of  its  Lord.  Here  is  the  opening  of 
death's  prison  that  his  captives  may  go  free.  It  is  a 
proclamation  of  victory  through  seeming  defeat,  of 
death  conquered  by  dying.  If  the  veil  of  the  temple 
rent  in  twain  showed  us  a  dying  Redeemer  opening  the 
way  for  sinners  to  the  mercy-seat,  these  opened  graves 
show  us  that  Redeemer  entering  the  very  stronghold  of 
our  last  enemy,  bursting  its  bolts  and  bars  and  leading 
forth  his  captives  into  life  eternal. 

This  is  not  only  a  proclamation  but  a  prophecy. 
These  opened  graves  are  the  first  trophies  of  a  splen- 
did triumph.  These  risen  dead,  (following,  not  antici- 
pating Christ's  resurrection)  are  the  first  fruits  of  a 
mighty  harvest  still  to  be  reaped.  It  was  fitting  that  an 
earnest  should  thus  be  given  of  the  finished  redemption 
wrought  upon  the  cross,  a  pledge  also  for  all  time  of 
"the  power  of  Christ's  resurrection."  Could  any  mir- 
acle bear  plainer  witness  to  Christ  as  the  life-giver  and 
to  the  cross  as  a  power  to  cancel  the  curse  of  sin? 

Then  my  brethren  we  have  in  the  supernatural 
events  which  surrounded  that  scene  on  Calvary  and 
marked  the  death  of  the  Sufferer  as  something  strange 
and  apart  from  all  other  deaths,  a  kind  of  miracle- 
gospel  speaking  to  us  of  God's  displeasure  against  sin 
visited  on  the  sinless,  of  a  way  thus  opened  for  sinners 
to  draw  near  to  God,  of  death  vanquished,  the  grave 
robbed  of  its  prey,  and  life  eternal  won  —  for  all  who 
follow  that  victorious  leader. 

And  you  too,  fellow-sinner,  this  is  the  gospel  which 
I  offer  to  you  to-day,  —  a  gospel  whose  three  mighty 
terms  are  atonement,  reconciliation,  eternal  life.  That 
darkened  heaven,  that  rending  veil,  those  opening 
graves,    are    God's    mighty    voices    to  you  proclaiming 

243 


that  the  debt  is  paid,  that  access  to  God  is  free,  that 
death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory,  inviting  you  to  walk 
henceforth  in  the  light  of  God's  countenance,  to  enter 
boldly,  not  into  an  earthly  holy  of  holies,  but  to  the 
very  heavenly  mercy-seat  itself,  to  enter  here  and  now 
upon  the  possession  of  eternal  life. 

When  the  very  skies  and  the  very  graves  are  thus 
vocal  will  you  be  deaf  to  those  voices?  In  the  presence 
of  a  tragedy  of  expiation  and  a  revelation  of  divine 
love  at  which  the  very  rocks  are  rent  asunder  will  your 
heart,  harder  than  the  rocks,  refuse  to  break?  And  like 
those  curious,  careless,  callous  bystanders,  awed  but  for 
an  hour,  will  you  too,  return  to  your  house  the  same 
unyielding,  impenitent  sinner  as  before? 


244 


NEGLECT  OF  SOULS. 

No  man  cared  for  my  soul. — Ps.  142:  4. 
"  If  I  had  ever  heard  as  much  about  Jesus  Christ 
before  I  came  to  this  place  as  I  have  since,  I  should  not 
be  here."  Such  was  the  bitter  reply  of  a  condemned 
felon  as  he  lay  in  his  cell  awaiting  execution,  to  the  min- 
isters, Y.  M.  C.  A.  committees,  and  devout  women,  who 
visited  him  day  after  day,  and  pleaded  with  him  to  take 
Christ  as  his  Saviour  before  the  hour  came  that  should 
launch  him  into  eternity.  Not  only  bitter,  but  probably 
untrue.  That  he  now  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
that  Saviour  but  thrust  him  sullenly  away,  showed  what 
he  would  most  likely  have  done  had  he  heard  of  him  be- 
fore. 

It  is  not  hearing  of  Jesus  Christ  but  believing  on 
him  that  keeps  men  from  prison  and  gallows.  But 
however  worthless  a  justification  of  himself,  the  words 
were  a  severe  arraignment  of  the  Christian  city  that  had 
suffered  him  tc  grow  up  within  sound  of  its  church  bells, 
yet  had  done  nothing  for  his  soul  till  he  lay  under  sen- 
tence of  death  in  a  felon's  cell. 

And  they  are  startlingly  suggestive  of  the  reproaches 
against  Christian  neighbors,  friends,  aye  kindred  even, 
with  which  the  walls  of  the  most  awful  prison  house  may 
one  day  resound.  "  If  you  had  spoken  to  me  of  Jesus 
Christ,  if  you  had  warned  me  of  the  wrath  to  come,  I 
should  not  have  been  here." 

"No  man  cared  for  my  soul."  In  the  life  of  the 
Psalmist    according    to    a    common    Hebrew    mode    of 

245 


speech,  "  my  soul  "  meant  simply  "  me.  "  He  refers  to 
the  neglect  and  indifference  of  his  friends  when  he  was 
hard  pressed  by  his  enemy  Saul. 

But  since  the  soul  is  the  true  self,  since  there  are  no 
interests  to  compare  with  its  interests,  no  perils  to  com- 
pare its  perils,  it  is  not  perverting  the  words,  only  intens- 
ifying them  to  take  them  in  the  sense  which  they  first 
convey  to  an  English  ear.  It  is  thus  that  I  ask  you  to 
consider  them  to-day,  as  the  complaint  of  the  sinner  who 
is  left  to  take  the  downward  road  unheeded  and  un- 
warned, when  he  at  last  awakes  to  the  fact  that  he  is 
lost. 

Three  things  concerning  this  complaint  we  have 
need  to  consider. 

i.     Who  have  cause  to  make  it. 

2.  Against  whom  it  justly  lies. 

3.  Why  it  is  that  souls  are  thus  neglected. 

I.  Are  there  any  in  this  day  of  missionary  and 
evangelistic  zeal  who  can  justly  complain  :  "  No  man 
cared  for  my  soul  ?  "  Alas,  yes  !  In  heathen  lands  mil- 
lions have  cause  to  make  it.  The  question  asked  by  a 
convert  of  a  missionary:  "Where  was  your  father, 
that  my  father  died  without  the  gospel  ?  "  is  a  home 
question  for  those  Christians  who  are  living  at  ease  and 
doing  nothing  to  obey  the  Saviour's  bidding  to  give  his 
gospel  to  every  creature.  I  do  not  deny  that  a  heathen 
might  be  saved  who  had  no  distinct  knowledge  of  Jesus 
of  Nazareth.  But  neither  Scripture  nor  experience  en- 
courages the  hope  that  many  will  be.  And  yet  despite  all 
that  the  church  has  yet  done  for  the  spread  of  the  gospel, 
there  are  millions  in  the  world  to  whom  that  name  above 
every  name  is  an  unknown  sound. 

The  heathen  too  often  have  reason  to  think  that 
Christian  nations  care  for  everything  else  that  is  theirs 
rather  than  for  their  souls.      The  black   man  found  that 

246 


the  Christian  cared  for  his  bone  and  sinew.  The  red 
man  found  that  the  Christian  cared  for  his  lands.  The 
Chinaman  found  that  the  Christian  cared  for  his  trade. 
But  alas,  they  are  still  only  beginning  to  be  convinced 
that  Christians  care  for  their  souls. 

But  it  is  not  far-away  heathen  alone  who  have  cause 
to  make  this  complaint.  The  unevangelized  classes  in 
our  own  land,  yes  in  this  Christian  city,  have  cause  to 
make  it.  That  condemned  felon  whom  I  have  just  quoted 
represented  a  class  who  though  living  within  the  sound 
of  church  bells,  and  having  dealings  all  their  lives  with 
Christian  people,  have  scarce  so  much  as  heard  the  name 
of  Christ,  unless  it  be  in  blasphemy,  much  less  have  ever 
heard  from  the  lips  of  any  disciple  of  Christ,  a  loving 
invitation  to  come  to  him. 

It  seems  incredible  that  in  a  land  where  missions 
and  churches  abound,  where  Sabbath  Schools  and  mis- 
sion schools  are  scattered  broadcast  such  can  be  found. 
Yet  they  can  be. 

England  is  a  land  of  as  many  churches  and  bibles, 
of  as  much  gospel  light  and  Christian  activity  as  our 
own.  Yet  a  minister  walking  across  the  fields  in  the 
west  of  England  one  Sabbath  day  and  pausing  at  a  little 
cottage  to  inquire  his  way  found  there  a  solitary  old  man 
of  eighty  years,  and  falling  into  conversation  with  him 
asked  at  length:  "  Do  you  know  Jesus?  "  "  Jesus?  Jesus? 
no  I  never  heard  of  him.  Do  he  live  about  here  ?  "  "I 
mean  Jesus  who  lived  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  and 
died  for  you  and  me  on  the  cross.  You  know  him  ?  " 
"  No  I  don't.  I  never  heard  of  him."  And  so  the  min- 
ister sat  down  and  told  him  that  old  story,  from  Bethle- 
hem to  the  opened  sepulchre,  and  behold  it  was  all  as 
new  and  he  listened  to  it  all  with  as  much  wonder  as  if 
he  had  been  an  untutored  savage  in  the  heart  of  Africa, 
aye,  and  received  it  with  the  simple  faith  of  a  little  child. 

247 


His  mind  was  clear.  He  could  talk  intelligently  of  his 
own  past  life.  He  had  heard  of  witches  often  enough, 
could  tell  many  a  tale  of  their  pranks,  and  had  horse- 
shoes upon  his  doors  to  keep  them  off.  But  of  Jesus  he 
knew  absolutely  nothing. 

Suppose  ye,  my  friends,  there  is  none  such  in  this 
land  ?  I  tell  you  there  are  thousands,  heathen,  unevan- 
gelized  heathen,  though  living  almost  under  the  shadow 
of  church  spires.  And  when  from  drunken  deaths,  starved 
deaths,  bloody  deaths,  they  go  up  to  their  last  account,  it 
will  be  a  sad  tale  they  will  have  to  tell,  albeit  one  that  will 
not  cover  their  own  sin,  "No  man  cared  for  my  soul." 
But  these  are  not  all.  The  impenitent  in  our  own  homes 
and  congregations  too  often  have  cause  to  make  this 
complaint.  To  them  the  gospel  message  is  indeed  famil- 
iar. They  are  taught  it  in  childhood.  They  hear  it 
from  Sabbath  to  Sabbath  seated  in  their  own  comfortable 
pews.  The  invitation  of  the  gospel  has  been  pressed 
upon  them  from  the  pulpit  not  once  but  many  times. 
Oh  they  have  light  enough,  opportunity  enough.  But  it 
has  all  been  of  a  general  sort.  The  invitation  has  come 
to  them  as  part  of  an  undistinguishable  mass,  not  per- 
nonally  with  a  warm  grasp  of  the  hand  and  a  tender  utter- 
ance of  their  name.  "  No  man  cares  for  my  soul,"  they 
often  say  to  themselves.  No  one  takes  any  interest  in 
my  individual  salvation. 

Let  me  give  you  an  illustration  of  what  some  of 
them  are  thinking. 

A  pastor  called  upon  the  daughter  of  one  of  his 
church  members  to  talk  with  her  of  the  concerns  of  her 
soul.  Among  other  things  he  said  to  her  :  "It  would 
give  your  father  great  joy  if  you  should  become  a  Chris- 
tian." "I  do  not  think  it  would"  she  replied.  Think- 
ing she  must  have  misunderstood  him  he  repeated  his 
remark.      "I  do   not   think   it  would,"   she  still  replied. 

248 


"You  do  not  think  so?  Why  not?  "  "  Because  T  think  if 
he  cared  anything  about  it  he  would  have  spoken  to  me 
on  the  subject,  and  he  never  has." 

Not  only  is  this  indifference  noticed,  it  is  often 
keenly  felt,  by  those  who  are  not  Christians.  They  may 
have  no  sense  of  personal  danger,  but  they  are  sensitive 
to  the  apparent  want  of  sympathy  and  interest.  It  is  no 
uncommon  thing  for  those  who  do  speak  of  these  things 
to  the  irreligious,  to  be  told  in  reply  in  a  tone  half  grate- 
ful, half  reproachful:  "you  are  the  first  person  that  has 
ever  spoken  to  me  on  this  subject."  For  years  perhaps 
that  man  or  woman  has  been  wondering  why  it  was  that 
among  all  these  Christian  friends  and  acquaintances  no 
man  seemed  to  care  for  his  soul. 

II.  But  who  is  responsible  for  these  neglected  souls? 
The  parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan  answers  that  ques- 
tion. Those  who  might  have  cared  for  them  and  did  not. 
The  guilt  of  this  neglect  lies  at  the  door  of  every  Chris- 
tian who  fails  to  show  an  interest  in  the  souls  of  others 
as  he  has  opportunity.  This  applies  even  in  the  case  of 
those  who  know  the  way  of  salvation  and  will  not  take  it. 
That  does  not  excuse  us  from  seeking  to  win  them,  since 
that  very  effort  might  be  the  one  they  needed  to  end 
resistance. 

It  is  no  excuse  to  say:  "They  have  churches  and 
bibles  and  sermons."  These  are  not  enough.  What 
every  man  needs  above  all  things  is  to  be  made  to  feel 
that  the  gospel  is  a  personal  matter,  that  Christ  came  to 
seek  his  individual  soul.  And  nothing  helps  him  to  feel  this 
like  the  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  a  word  of  personal  en- 
treaty from  a  Christian  friend.  He  cannot  lose  himself 
in  the  crowd  then,  and  let  the  words  aimed  at  his  con- 
science slide  off  upon  some  one  else.  It  is  no  excuse  to 
say:  This  is  the  business  of  ministers,  elders,  Sun- 
day School  teachers.      I  am  only  a  private  Christian. 

249 


Suppose  a  case  like  this.  You  are  on  board  a  vessel. 
A  man  has  fallen  overboard.  At  your  feet  lie  a  pile  of 
life  preservers;  but  you  do  not  lift  a  finger  to  throw  one  to 
your  drowning  fellow  creature.  When  remonstrated  with 
you  say:  "  I  am  only  a  passenger.  It  is  the  business  of 
the  ship's  officers  to  guard  the  lives  of  those  on  board." 
But  if  this  plea  would  not  serve  you  in  such  a  case  how 
much  less  in  the  case  of  a  soul  sinking  into  hell.  It  is  a 
question  for  each  one  of  us  to  bring  home  to  himself 
then  :  "  Do  I  care  for  the  souls  of  the  perishing  around 
me,  and  do  I  let  them  know  that  I  care  for  them?"  If 
some  soul  from  my  neighborhood,  within  my  reach, 
should  go  up  to  the  bar  of  God  to-day  to  meet  an  awful 
doom,  and  should  cry  out  in  its  despair:  "  No  man  cared 
for  me,"  would  any  part  of  the  guilt  of  that  neglect  and 
ruin  lie  at  my  door? 

Few  of  us  can  ask  these  questions  without  some  de- 
gree of  self-reproach.  Ours  may  not  be  a  total  indiffer- 
ence to  the  souls  about  us;  but  in  most  cases  how  feeble 
our  interest  when  compared  with  the  worth  of  a  soul  or 
the  greatness  of  its  peril. 

This  being  so  we  cannot  help  asking  the  third  ques- 
tion : 

III.  Why  is  there  so  little  concern  for  souls  among 
Christ's  followers? 

Two  words  tell  the  story;  unbelief  and  selfishness. 

I.  Unbelief.  We  cannot  feel  concerned  for  those 
we  do  not  feel  to  be  in  danger.  Unbelief  in  the  threaten- 
ings  of  God  is  a  chief  cause  for  neglect  of  souls.  That 
old  lie  of  the  father  of  lies  :  "Ye  shall  not  surely  die  " 
is  afloat  still,  doing  the  work  of  the  burglar's  chloroform 
in  stupifying  the  Christians  who  should  be  on  the  watch, 
while  the  enemy  makes  sure  of  his  booty. 

It  is  not  that  the  words  are  obscure.  No  warnings 
could   be   plainer  or   more   terrible  than  those  of  Jesus 

250 


Christ.  It  is  not  ordinarily  that  Christians  have  reasoned 
themselves  into  a  definite  belief  that  the  words  mean 
something  else  than  they  seem  to  mean.  It  is  simply  a 
feeling  that  such  threatenings  cannot  be  true. 

I  put  it  to  you  to-day,  Christian  hearer.  Do  you  be- 
lieve that  at  the  last  day  the  judge  will  say  to  those  on 
his  left  hand:  "Depart  ye  into  everlasting  fire  ?  "  If 
you  do,  what  are  you  doing  to  rescue  souls  from  that  fire? 
If  you  do  not,  why  do  you  reject  the  plain  words  of 
Christ? 

But  souls  are  neglected  too  from  unbelief  of  another 
sort,  unbelief  in  the  promises  of  God.  If  too  hopeful  a 
view  of  the  case  of  sinners  relaxes  effort,  too  hopeless  a 
view  paralyzes  it.  How  often  do  we  excuse  ourselves 
from  effort  for  a  soul  by  the  plea,  "  There  is  no  use.  He 
is  beyond  reach."  Beyond  whose  reach?  Yours?  or  the 
Holy  Ghost's?  Have  you  a  right  to  set  bounds  for  God 
or  to  limit  the  power  of  prayer? 

O,  for  more  faith  in  the  power  of  God's  truth  attended 
by  God's  Spirit  to  break  the  hardest  heart!  O,  for  more 
of  that  faith  for  spiritual  combats  that  David  had  when 
with  five  smooth  stones  from  the  brook  he  went  boldly 
forth  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts  to  meet  the  Phil- 
istine champion.  Where  would  have  been  the  work  of 
such  a  man  as  Judson  or  such  a  woman  as  Fidelia  Fiske, 
where  the  hundreds  of  Burman  and  Nestorian  souls,  that 
now  glitter  as  stars  in  their  crowns  of  rejoicing,  if  they 
had  ever  allowed  themselves  to  know  such  a  thing  as 
hopeless  cases. 

It  might  seem  that  these  two  kinds  of  unbelief  are 
at  least  not  likely  to  be  found  together.  Yet  the  reverse 
is  true.  It  is  no  uncommon  thing  to  find  doubt  as  to  the 
real  danger  of  the  impenitent  united  with  doubt  of  the 
possibility  of  doing  them  any  good, — the  two  together 
rendering  the  Christian  a  passive  looker-on  at   the  most 

251 


Solemn  of  all  tragedies,  the  ruin  of  a  soul. 

Yet  our  neglect  is  not  all  due  to  unbelief.  The 
irreligious  sometimes,  seek  a  false  comfort  here.  They 
say:  Christians  do  not  belive  their  own  teachings  con- 
cerning God  and  eternity.  If  they  did  they  could  not  be  as 
unconcerned  as  they  are  about  their  friends  and  neighbors 
who  must  be  in  danger  of  the  wrath  to  come.  And  if 
they  do  not  believe  these  things,  why  should  we  trouble 
ourselves  about  them?  But  the  reasoning  is  not  sound. 
All  experience  teaches  that  it  is  quite  possible  to  believe 
in  the  reality  of  an  evil  and  yet  do  nothing  to  relieve  or 
avert  it.  The  comfortable  citizen  unfolds  his  morning 
paper  and  reads  perhaps  of  a  famine  in  Asia,  so  many  hu- 
man beings  a  week  dying  of  starvation,  babes  pining  to 
death  on  their  mothers'  bosoms,  men  groping  in  the  dust 
by  the  wayside  for  a  few  grains  of  rice  to  keep  soul  and 
body  together  a  few  hours  longer.  He  does  not  say  : 
"This  must  be  exaggerated!  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 
He  does  not  doubt  the  facts.  He  exclaims:  "This  is 
horrible!"  and  then  he  falls  to  and  eats  his  plentiful 
breakfast  with  no  loss  of  relish  and  then  goes  his  way 
not  perhaps  contributing  so  much  as  a  penny  to  the 
relief  of  that  unquestioned  suffering. 

Such  is  the  power  of  selfishness.  And  that,  alas,  is 
the  other  great  secret  of  our  neglect  of  souls.  Oh,  there 
is  a  fearful  amount  of  this  selfishness  in  the  church  of 
Christ.  The  heartless  answer  of  the  priests  to  Judas 
when  he  came  to  them  in  an  agony  of  remorse  crying  : 
"  I  have  sinned  in  that  I  have  betrayed  innocent  blood,'' 
"What  is  that  to  us?  See  thou  to  that,"  is  what  the  con- 
duct of  too  many  who  think  their  own  salvation  secure, 
seems  to  say  to  the  unsaved  about  them.  Monstrous!  that 
one  should  not  care  what  becomes  of  others  if  his  own 
soul  is  saved.  Yet  just  this  monstrous  thing,  I  fear,  is  too 
often  actually  realized. 

252 


Even  our  concern  for  our  own  families,  if  it  stops 
with  them,  is  proved  to  be  only  a  selfish  concern.  They 
are  so  much  a  part  of  ourselves,  so  necessary  to  our  hap- 
piness, that  we  may  well  be  filled  with  distress  at  the 
thought  of  eternal  separation  from  them,  on  purely  sel- 
fish ground,  without  a  particle  of  that  love  for  souls 
simply  as  souls  or  pity  for  the  lost  simply  as  lost  which 
drew  Christ  down  to  earth  to  seek  and  to  save. 

One  may  even  be  unselfish  enough  to  feel  some  mo- 
tions of  sympathy  for  the  impenitent  and  some  desires 
for  their  salvation,  and  yet  be  too  selfish  to  do  anything 
for  them.  Effort  for  souls  involves  self-denial.  Timid- 
ity must  be  overcome  for  one  thing.  How  often  does  the 
Christian  allow  his  nearest  neighbors,  whom  he  meets 
every  day,  to  gain  the  impression  from  his  silence  that  he 
cares  nothing  for  their  souls  simply  because  he  is  not  un- 
selfish enough  to  be  willing  to  risk  repulse  or  a  sneer. 

Effort  for  souls,  too,  takes  time,  and  we  are  econ- 
omical of  time  in  these  driving  days.  Withal  he  who  feels 
the  burden  of  a  perishing  world  as  the  apostles  felt  it, 
and  esteems  the  rescue  of  souls  the  most  important  work 
in  which  he  can  engage  will  have  little  money  to  spend 
in  pampering  himself  and  little  heart  for  the  mere  frip- 
peries and  frivolities  of  life.  Yes,  we  must  get  rid  of  self  in 
all  its  forms,  pride,  covetousness,  love  of  ease;  we  must 
be  ready  with  the  Saviour  of  souls  himself  to  deny  our- 
selves and  take  up  our  cross,  if  we  would  be  free  from  a 
share  of  the  reproach  :    "No  man  cared  for  my  soul." 

IV.  If  these  are  the  causes  of  the  neglect  we  are 
considering,  they  themselves  suggest  the  remedy.  It  lies 
in  holding  before  our  minds  the  facts  by  which  unbelief 
and  selfishness  may  be  overcome. 

Three  facts  especially  : 

I.  The  worth  of  the  soul.  Do  the  bodily  sufferings 
of  men  appeal  to  your  sympathies?     If  you  stood   on   a 

253 


battle-field,  your  ears  filled  with  the  groans  of  the  maimed 
and  the  dying,  would  you  feci  that  you  must  do  what  you 
could  for  their  relief?  Yet  what  are  pains  of  body  to  soul 
suffering?  Even  if  the  body  were  to  last  forever  its  well 
or  ill  being  would  be  a  secondary  matter.  The  true  well 
or  ill  being  would  be  that  of  the  soul.  How  much  more 
when  it  is  but  a  handful  of  dust  which  in  a  few  days  will 
return  to  the  earth  as  it  was? 

Or  are  you  interested  in  your  neighbor's  affairs,  anx- 
ious to  see  him  prosperous,  willing  to  make  some  exertion 
to  put  him  in  the  way  of  advancement?  This,  too,  is 
most  praiseworthy.  But  what  is  outward  prosperity  to  a 
ruined  soul?  What  is  adversity  to  a  soul  sure  of  eternal 
life?  The  career  of  the  most  successful  will  soon  end,  the 
troubles  of  the  most  unfortunate  will  soon  be  over,  un- 
aided by  wealth,  unsupported  by  friends,  unattended  by 
fame,  the  soul  must  go  alone,  a  soul  in  Christ  or  a  soul 
out  of  Christ  to  the  presence  of  its  Judge.  Would  you  do 
good  that  will  last;  you  must  do  it  for  souls.  All  joys, 
all  miseries,  all  pursuits,  all  studies,  all  relationships,  all 
things  that  awaken  our  interest  and  call  forth  our 
sympathy  for  our  fellowmen  have  meaning  only  as  they 
bear  upon  the  destiny  of  their  souls. 

II.  The  second  fact  is  the  peril  of  souls.  The 
doom  of  the  willful  sinner  is  not  a  pleasant  subject  of 
contemplation,  but  it  is  a  needful  one,  if  we  would  feel 
that  yearning  for  them  which  Christ  felt.  It  was  that 
sight  which  drew  him  to  leave,  the  bosom  of  the  Father, 
lay  aside  the  glory  of  the  godhead  and  endure  the  agony 
of  the  cross.  Are  we  more  tender  than  he  that  we  can 
feel  what  he  felt  though  we  close  our  eyes  to  what  he 
saw?  Look  at  the  completeness  of  the  ruin  which  awaits 
an  impenitent  soul,  banishment  from  God,  exclusion  from 
heaven,  the  utter  extinction  of  God's  image  within  and 
degradation  to  the  level   of  fiends.      Look  at  the  misery 

254 


of  it,  memory  a  worm  that  never  dies,  the  star  of  hope 
blotted  out  in  the  blackness  of  darkness.  Look  at  the 
eternity  of  it — endless  remorse,  endless  self-loathing, 
endless  despair.  O,  my  friends  can  you  see  a  soul  ex- 
posed to  such  ruin,  and  care  nothing  for  that  soul? 

III.  But  against  this  dark  back-ground  we  need  to 
keep  constantly  in  view  the  love  of  Christ.  "  The  love 
of  Christ  constraineth  us."  His  love  to  us.  Should  not 
that  constrain  us  ?  Shall  angels  take  an  interest  in  the 
fate  of  human  souls,  shall  they  shout  for  joy  when  one 
sinner  repents  and  shall  we  alone  their  fellow  sinners 
bought  by  the  same  blood,  rescued  from  the  same  bond- 
age, look  on  without  concern  while  they  die  in  their  sins? 
But  think  also  of  his  love  for  them. 

Perhaps  these  souls  are  uninteresting  in  themselves, 
besotted  with  ignorance  or  repulsive  with  vice.  We  can 
find  in  them  nothing  to  awaken  our  interest.  But  stay  ! 
These  are  souls  for  whom  Christ  died.  Is  there  nothing 
in  that  to  invest  them  with  interest?  What,  am  I  a  dis- 
ciple of  Christ,  a  friend  of  Christ,  and  shall  I  care  noth- 
ing for  that  which  he  loved  even  unto  death  ?  Nay, 
shall  I  not  rather  go  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  if  need  be, 
or  dig  down  into  the  lowest  strata  of  society,  anywhere, 
everywhere  in  short,  where  there  are  souls  to  be  found 
that  we  may  find  these  gems  for  which  he  came  on  such 
a  quest  and  lay  them  as  our  tribute  of  love  and  homage 
at  his  feet.  Surely  he  who  brings  one  soul  to  Christ 
makes  a  richer  and  more  acceptable  offering  to  Him  than 
he  who  lavishes  a  fortune  in  his  service  or  rears  the 
most  splendid  temple  to  his  praise. 

Two  or  three  practical  remarks  now,  and  I  have 
done. 

i.  The  first  is  that  if  we  are  guilty  of  neglect  of 
souls  wre  are  neglecting  the  main  business  of  life.  What 
is  a  Christian  but  a  follower  of  Christ?     And   how  can 

255 


we  be  followers  of  Christ  unless  we  live  for  that  for  which 
he  lived.  But  he  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was 
lost.  That  was  his  business  here.  And  he  has  left  that 
work  now  to  his  people.  Why  is  it  that  Christ  does  not 
take  his  people  to  heaven  as  soon  as  they  repent?  You 
say  he  leaves  them  here  for  their  own  discipline.  True, 
but  not  for  that  alone.  He  also  leaves  them  here  for 
usefulness,  that  they  may  make  known  the  glad  tidings 
to  their  fellow-sinners.  And  shall  we  busy  ourselves 
here  and  there,  and  neglect  the  very  thing  for  which  we 
are  left  in  this  world  of  dying  men? 

2.  If  we  are  guilty  of  this  neglect  we  are  also 
found  false  witnesses  for  God.  "Ye  are  my  witnesses," 
said  Christ.  What  are  we  to  witness  to?  To  the  truth 
of  the  gospel.  And  chief  among  these  is  that  men  have 
immortal  souls  to  save,  and  that  these  souls  are  lost 
without  Christ.  Do  we  witness  to  any  such  truths  when 
we  suffer  souls  to  go  to  destruction  without  a  word  of 
warning  or  an  effort  to  save  them?  No,  but  the  very 
opposite.  In  that  case  we  say  to  men  by  our  lives  that 
their  souls  are  of  very  little  value,  and  that  if  they  die  in 
their  sins  they  run  very  little  risk. 

3.  I  remark  again  that  it  is  useless  to  look  for  any 
great  awakening  of  sinners  till  Christians  awake  to  a 
real  concern  for  their  souls.  If  those  who  see  are  in- 
sensible to  the  peril  in  which  souls  are  lying,  how  shall 
the  blind  be  expected  to  realize  it.  As  well  expect  a 
temperance  movement  to  begin  among  drunkards,  as  ex- 
pect a  revival  to  begin  among  the  ungodly.  "These 
Christians  know  more  about  this  matter  than  we  do," 
they  reason  "and  if  they  are  not  alarmed  for  us,  why 
should  we  be  alarmed  for  ourselves? 

But  while  this  is  all  true,  I  cannot  dismiss  this  sub- 
ject without  an  earnest  word  to  those  before  me  who  are 
neglecting  their  own  souls.      My  friend,  if  it  be  true  that 

256 


no  man  cares  for  your  soul,  there  is  the  more  need  that 
you  care  for  it  yourself.  You  have  but  one  soul  to  lose 
or  to  save.  If  you  lose  it  the  misery  will  be  yours  no 
matter  on  whom  you  throw  the  blame.  "  If  thou  be  wise 
thou  shalt  be  wise  for  thyself  but  if  thou  scornest  thou 
alone  shall  bear  it." 

But  it  is  not  true  that  no  man  cares  for  your  soul. 
However  it  may  be  with  others,  One  cared  for  it.  He 
sought  it  with  many  tears.  He  poured  out  his  blood  for 
it.  If  you  will  go  to  destruction  you  must  go  over  the 
bleeding  body  of  your  Redeemer.  How  then,  when  you 
have  done  that  can  you  meet  that  Redeemer  enthroned 
upon  the  judgment  seat,  and  looking  upon  those  pierced 
hands  attempt  to  justfy  yourself  to  his  face  with  the  plea  : 
"  No  man  cared  for  my  soul?  " 


257 


CHRIST     MADE     PERFECT     THROUGH     SUF- 
FERINGS. 

For  it  became  him,  for  whom  are  all  things,  and  by  ■whom  are 
all  tilings,  in  bringing  many  sons  unto  glory,  to  make  the  Captain 
of  their  salvation  perfect  through  sufferings. — Heb.    2:10. 

The  apostle  is  here  dealing  with  "  the  offense  of  the 
cross."  He  is  seeking  to  remove  for  sincere  but  waver- 
ing Jewish  believers,  the  "stumbling  block"  which  the 
Jew  always  found  in  the  conception  of  a  suffering  Messiah. 

Such  a  conception  was  so  perplexing  to  them,  so  for- 
eign to  all  the  ideas  in  which  they  had  been  trained  that 
they  evidently  felt  lingering  misgivings  about  it,  even 
after  they  became  Christians.  It  is  to  meet  these  that 
the  apostle  affirms  that  such  a  way  of  redeeming  man 
was  every  way  worthy  of  God.  "  It  became  Him  for 
whom  are  all  things  and  by  whom  are  all  things,  in  bring- 
ing many  sons  unto  glory  to  make  the  Captain  of  their 
salvation  perfect  through  sufferings."  It  was  suitable, 
it  was  worthy  of  God,  and  harmonious  with  his  perfec- 
tions, that  he  who  had  all  ways  and  all  expedients  at  his 
disposal,  who  was  not  constrained  or  limited  in  his 
choice  of  methods,  should  choose  just  this  way  of  lift- 
ing up  sinful  men  to  a  share  in  his  glory. 

But  with  the  change  and  growth  of  Christian  senti- 
ment in  the  lapse  of  centuries,  it  has  come  about  that 
these  words  introduced  to  remove  one  stumbling-block, 
have  themselves  given  rise  to  another.  With  our  firm 
belief  in  the  absolute  divinity,  and  the  faultless  perfec- 
tion  at   every  stage   of  his   earthly  life   of  our   glorious 

258 


Redeemer,  it  has  come  to  be  not  a  little  perplexing  to 
us  that  He  should  be  here  presented  as  needing  to  bo 
made  perfect.  We  can  easily  see  that  a  sinful  nature 
like  ours  needs  the  discipline  of  chastisement  to  correct 
its  waywardness,  that  the  impure  ore  needs  the  refiner's 
fire  to  purge  away  its  dross.  But  He  was  pure  gold 
from  the  first.  What  could  the  refiner's  fire  do  for 
Him?  This  is  the  point  for  our  study  this  evening: 
Christ  as  our  Redeemer  made  perfect  through  suffering.  I 
say  Christ  as  our  Redeemer  for  you  notice  that  he  is 
introduced  here  not  simply  by  a  personal  but  by  an 
official  title,  the  Captain  of  our  Salvation;  that  is,  the 
author,  or  better  perhaps  the  Pioneer  of  our  Salvation. 
The  word  here  rendered  Captain  is  one  seldom  used  in 
the  New  Testament  and  denotes  not  as  our  word  cap- 
tain would  suggest,  a  military  officer,  but  rather  one 
who  is  at  once  a  leader  and  a  model,  breaking  the  path 
in  which  others  follow  and  furnishing  the  pattern  by 
which  they  regulate  themselves.  It  is  in  this  capacity 
for  this  work,  that  he  who  undertook  it  was  perfected  by 
suffering. 

i.  First  of  all,  he  was  perfected  as  man.  It  was 
assuredly  worthy  of  God  to  redeem  man  through  man. 
The  first  condition  for  the  Son  of  God  in  undertaking 
our  case  was  that  he  should  assume  our  nature.  And 
throughout  this  epistle,  particularly,  you  find  great 
stress  laid  upon  this  oneness  of  nature,  this  full  brother- 
hood between  Redeemer  and  redeemed.  This  oneness 
was  entire.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  we 
hold  fast  to  the  genuine  and  complete  manhood  of  our 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  and  that  we  never  allow  his  divinity 
so  to  overshadow  his  humanity  in  our  thought  that  the 
latter  shall  cease  to  be  real,  or  that  we  shall  doubt  or 
lose  sight  of  his  full  participation  in  everything  that 
belongs    to   an    unfallen    humanity.     But    the    idea    of 

259 


growth,  of  progress  from  immaturity  to  maturity,  is 
inseparable  from  the  idea  of  manhood.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  imperfection  by  no  means  to  be  confounded 
with  each  other,  the  imperfection  of  blemish,  of  defect, 
and  the  imperfection  of  immaturity.  You  pluck  an 
apple  from  the  tree  in  early  summer,  and  you  say:  See 
how  perfect  it  is!  No  worm  has  punctured  it,  no  speck 
can  be  found  on  its  surface.  Divide  it  with  your 
knife  and  you  will  find  there  all  the  parts  proper  to  an 
apple, — the  flesh,  the  core,  the  seeds.  But  will  you 
eat  it?  Will  you  give  it  to  your  children?  Will  you 
plant  its  seeds  expecting  it  to  grow?  Why  not?  It  is 
not  ripe  yet.  In  that  sense  it  is  not  perfect.  It  will 
take  many  days  of  sunshine  to  soften  its  pulp,  to 
sweeten  its  juices,  and  to  mature  its  seeds  so  that  they 
can  germinate  and  grow. 

You  see  a  babe  of  six  months  old  crowing  on  its 
mother's  knee,  and  you  say:  There  is  a  physically  per- 
fect child.  See  how  well  formed  its  limbs,  how  regular 
its  features,  how  intelligent  its  expression.  It  lacks  no 
part,  no  sense,  no  faculty.  Could  you  make  it  trans- 
parent and  study  its  brain  and  internal  structure,  you 
would  very  likely  find  all  as  perfect  as  its  outward  form. 
But  will  you  give  it  an  ax  to  wield?  Will  you  bring  it 
a  problem  for  solution?  Oh  no;  it  is  still  an  imma- 
ture babe.  It  has  yet  to  be  make  perfect,  physically  by 
years  of  study,  spiritually  by  years  of  discipline. 

Just  so  Christ  was  spiritually  perfect  at  every  point 
of  his  life,  perfect  as  child,  perfect  as  youth,  perfect  as 
man.  Yet  the  perfection  of  the  child  was  not  the  same 
as  the  perfection  of  the  man.  There  was  no  sin  in  the 
child  Jesus,  but  there  was  immaturity;  and  there  was 
advance  from  this  to  the  maturity  of  the  man  who  at 
thirty  years  of  age  began  to  preach  the  kingdom  of  God. 
This  is  not  theory;  it  is  the  literal  teaching  of  Scripture. 

260 


"And  Jesus  increased  in  wisdom  and  stature  and  in 
favor  with  God  and  man."  It  could  not  be  otherwise 
and  Jesus  still  be  true  man. 

And  following  out  this  same  thought,  if  Jesus  was 
perfect  as  a  man  at  his  baptism  he  was  perfect  in  a  still 
higher  sense  at  his  crucifixion.  And  this  highest  per- 
fecting was  the  fruit  of  the  sufferings  and  struggles  of 
those  years  of  struggle  with  Jewish  unbelief  and  Phari- 
saic bitterness.  This  is  exactly  what  is  said  a  little 
farther  on  in  this  Epistle,  (5:8)  "Though  he  were  a 
Son,  yet  learned  he  obedience  by  the  things  which  he 
suffered."  Though  he  had  from  the  first  the  filial 
spirit,  the  steadfast  purpose  of  obedience,  that  Spirit 
was  intensified,  that  purpose  of  obedience  was  con- 
firmed and  solidified  by  the  discipline  of  suffering. 

You  watch  a  smith  tempering  a  piece  of  steel.  He 
alternately  heats  it  in  the  fire,  and  cools  it  by  a  sudden 
plunge  in  cold  water.  For  what?  Not  to  purify  the 
metal;  that  has  been  done  already;  but  to  toughen  it 
that  it  may  be  bent  double  without  breaking,  so  that  it 
may  be  driven  against  the  flint  rock  without  turning  its 
edge.  It  is  this  temper,  this  toughening  of  character, 
which  is  wrought  by  the  discipline  of  suffering.  And 
we  know  no  other  way  in  which  it  can  be  wrought. 
Other  ways  God  may  have  for  the  angel,  for  the  little 
child  who  dies  before  it  has  encountered  any  ol  the 
storms  of  an  earthly  life.  But  if  so,  we  know  not,  nor 
can  we  even  imagine  what  they  are.  No  man's  char- 
acter is  ever  throughly  welded,  here,  till  it  has  been 
through  the  fire.  There  is  no  robust,  stalwart  virtue 
which  has  not  been  beaten  upon  by  storms  of  temptation. 

And  this  was  as  true  of  the  ideal  man  Christ  Jesus 
as  of  any  of  his  brethren.  And  only  then  when  he  was 
thus  perfected  as  man  was  he  ready  for  that  final  victory 
over   the   powers   of  darkness   by  which   he  set  Satan's 

261 


Captives  free.  "  Though  he  were  a  Son,  yet  learned  he 
obedience  by  the  things  which  he  suffered,  and  being 
made  perfect  he  became  the  author  of  eternal  salvation 
unto  all  them  that  obey  him." 

As  our  Example,  again,  Christ  was  made  perfect  by 
suffering.  This  is  an  important  part  of  his  work  as 
Saviour,  which  is  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked,  because 
it  is  not  the  sole  or  the  chief  part.  Christ  saves  us 
by  making  us  holy,  and  one  of  the  influences  by 
which  he  makes  us  holy  is  the  influence  of  his  own 
holy  example.  We  needed  to  have  the  law  embodied 
in  a  life.  We  needed  to  have  the  ideal  manhood  set 
before  us  in  a  personal  form.  In  the  example  of  Christ 
this  has  been  done.  And  in  this  sense  he  is  peculiarly 
the  leader,  "  the  pioneer  "  of  our  salvation,  bringing  us 
to  glory  by  the  path  of  obedience  to  the  Father  which 
he  has  trodden  unfalteringly  before  us. 

But  it  is  easy  to  see  that  as  an  example  he  must  needs 
grow  to  perfection.  He  could  not  have  furnished  us 
the  example  we  need  in  a  single  act.  Had  he  appeared 
from  heaven  for  a  single  day  and  then  gone  back  again, 
that  day  however  perfectly  lived,  would  not  have  given 
us  the  needed  example.  That  example  must  be  a  life. 
And  it  must  be  a  life  long  enough  and  varied  enough  to 
touch  our  lives  at  all  vital  points.  Now  one  of  the 
most  vital  points,  one;  of  the  crises  at  which  we  most 
need  the  encouraging  influence  of  example,  is  the 
experience  of  suffering.  This  is  a  phase  of  life  which 
we  have  all  to  pass  through.  It  is  one  which  peculiarly 
tries  our  faith  and  submission.  Of  how  little  use  to  us 
in  that  experience  would  be  the  example  of  one,  how- 
ever pure,  however  sinless,  who  had  known  nothing  of 
sorrow  or  of  struggle,  who  had  been  always  happy, 
always  prosperous,  always  outwardly  successful  and 
f(Jrtu^3-te.      Such  an  example  would  fail  us  at   the  very 

262 


moment  of  greatest  emergency.  And  so  you  find  that 
the  appeals  to  Christ's  example  in  the  New  Testament 
are  chiefly  to  this  very  aspect  of  it,  his  endurance  of 
suffering.  "Consider  Him  that  endured  such  contra- 
diction of  sinners  against  himself,  lest  ye  be  wearied 
and  faint  in  your  minds."  "  Christ  also  suffered  for  us, 
leaving  us  an  example  that  we  should  follow  his  steps." 

3.  But  not  only  was  our  Redeemer  thus  made  per- 
fect through  suffering  as  man  and  as  example.  He  was 
also  made  perfect  as  Propitiation.  We  stand  here  in  the 
presence  of  a  great  mystery.  The  necessity  of  propi- 
tiation in  order  to  forgiveness,  I,  for  one,  do  not  profess 
to  comprehend.  Here  and  there  I  see  a  ray  of  light 
upon  it.  But  it  lies  deep  in  the  counsels  of  the  God- 
head, one  of  those  things  which  the  angels  desire  to 
look  into.  But  the  fact  is  as  clear  as  God's  word  can 
make  it  that  a  propitiation  was  demanded,  i.  e. ,  that 
something  was  needed,  not  to  incline  God  to  forgive, 
that  inclination  is  as  eternal  as  his  fatherhood,  but  to 
make  it  fit,  to  make  it  consistent  with  his  attributes  for 
Him  to  forgive. 

Over  and  over  again  in  language  the  most  varied, 
does  God's  word  set  forth  that  forgiveness  could  not  be 
bestowed  until  in  some  way  the  ill  desert  of  sin  had 
been  fully  manifested  and  the  holiness  of  God  com- 
pletely vindicated.  But  this  can  only  be  through  the 
suffering  of  some  one  for  sin.  Propitiation  and  suffer- 
ing therefore  go  together.  Even  had  it  been  possible 
for  Christ  to  be  perfected  as  man  and  perfected  as 
example  not  suffering,  he  could  not  have  been  a  perfect 
propitiation.  He  could  not  have  been  a  propitiation  at 
all,  had  He  not  "suffered  for  sins,"  the  just  for  the 
unjust.  We  need  a  blood-bought  pardon.  Only  by 
another's  stripes  can  we  be  healed.  Call  it  purchase, 
call  it  substituted  penalty,  call  it  what  you  will,  the  fact 

263 


stands  sure  upon  the  testimony  of  the  Saviour  himself 
that  not  till  His  body  had  been  broken  and  His  blood 
shed  could  remission  of  sins  be  offered  in  His  name. 
The  Scriptures  everywhere  link  together  these  two 
things,  a  suffering  and  an  atoning  Saviour.  All  the 
sufferings  of  the  Redeemer  contributed  toward  the 
efficacy  of  this  propitiatory  work,  but  it  was  not  till  the 
cross  had  been  endured  that  He  could  cry:  It  is  fin- 
ished, and  offer  with  pierced  hand  a  free  pardon  to  all 
who  would  receive'  it. 

4.  Finally;  not  only  was  the  Captain  of  our  Salva- 
tion by  his  sufferings  made  perfect  as  man,  made  per- 
fect as  example,  made  perfect  as  propitiation:  He  was 
also  made  perfect  as  Priest,  i.  e.,  as  Mediator  between 
God  and  man.  When  we  speak  of  Christ's  priesthood 
we  include  under  that  term  all  that  Christ  is  now  doing 
at  God's  right  hand  to  carry  on  the  work  of  redemption, 
all  that  he  is  doing  in  reclaiming  the  lost  and  reconcil- 
ing them  to  God,  all  that  he  is  doing  in  strengthening 
the  weak  and  encouraging  the  despondent.  But  in 
order  to  be  perfectly  qualified  for  this  helpful  office,  he 
must  have  something  to  commend  him  to  men's  confi- 
dence. He  must  be  presented  to  them  in  such  a  way  as 
to  draw  out  their  faith  and  love.  And  this  he  is  able  to 
do  because  he  comes  to  them  as  one  who  has  suffered  as 
they  suffer,  who  has  been  tried  as  they  are  tried,  and 
who  has  come  off  victor  through  the  conflict.  A  suffer- 
ing Redeemer  appeals  to  our  love  and  to  our  confidence 
as  no  other  could.  "For  in  that  He  Himself  hath 
suffered  being  tempted  he  is  able  also  to  succor  them 
that  are  tempted,"  (Heb.  2:18).  "  We  have  not  an  high 
priest  which  cannot  be  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our 
infirmities  but  was  in  all  points  tempted  like  as  we  are." 
(Heb.  4:15).  These  two  passages  distinctly  ground 
Christ's  helpfulness  and  perfection  as   a   sympathizing 

264 


high  priest  upon  his  sufferings.  Yet  there  is  always 
something  a  little  perplexing  as  we  read  them.  For  we 
cannot  help  asking  how  after  all  divine  knowledge 
could  gain  anything  from  the  teachings  of  experience. 
If  Christ  was  the  Son  of  God  what  can  he  have  known 
of  human  need  after  his  sorrowful  sojourn  in  this  world 
that  he  did  not  know  before? 

But  the  difficulty  is  relieved  when  we  consider  that 
it  is  needful  not  only  that  He  should  be  able  to  sympa- 
thize, but  to  make  us  feel  his  sympathy.  And  to  this 
end  He  must  have  suffered  himself.  To  whom  do  we 
go  among  our  earthly  friends  in  our  times  of  trial.  Is 
it  not  to  those  who  have  had  the  same  trials?  Here 
and  there  you  find  a  man  who  is  justly  called  "a  Son  of 
Consolation,"  who  is  a  sort  of  unordained  minister  of 
comfort  to  all  the  children  of  want  and  sorrow. 
Instinctively  the  burdened  turn  to  him  for  relief;  the 
perplexed  and  troubled  open  their  hearts  to  him  without 
persuasion.  And  when  you  come  to  inquire  what  it  is 
that  gives  him  this  hold  upon  men  you  always  find  that 
he  is  one  who  has  been  through  deep  waters  himself. 
This  was  his  ordination.  By  these  experiences  he  was 
prepared  for  his  blessed  ministry  of  comfort. 

Just  so  it  is  with  our  great  high  priest.  Whatever 
our  sorrow  we  can  always  go  to  Him  with  the  certainty 
that  He  knows  all  about  it,  with  the  assurance  of 
sympathy  which  comes  from  the  knowledge  that  how- 
ever deep  the  waters  through  which  we  are  passing  He 
has  passed  through  deeper  still.  He  is  a  perfect 
Refuge,  a  perfect  Support;  and  He  was  made  perfect 
through  suffering. 

Thus  as  Man,  as  Example,  as  Propitiation,  and  as 
Priest  was  the  Captain  of  our  Salvation  made  perfect 
through  suffering. 

It  only  remains  that  we  linger  for  a  moment  in  con- 

265 


I 


elusion  on  those  opening  words:  \' It  became  Hint.**  It 
was  worthy  of  God  when  he  would  bring  sinners  to 
glory  to  do  it  through  the  mediation  of  a  suffering 
Saviour. 

It  became  Him;  for  even  if  we  suppose  some  other 
method  had  been  possible,  no  other  could  have  so 
gloriously  manifested  His  love.  Where  else  than  in  the 
sufferings  of  His  own  Son  could  God  have  given  us  a 
true  measure  of  His  condescension  and  the  intensity  of 
His  yearning  toward  the  work  of  His  own  hands! 

It  became  Him;  for  no  other  way  would  have 
been  so  consistent  with  His  Fatherhood.  Suppose  a 
choice  had  been  open  between  such  a  method  as  this, 
and  some  other  more  external  and  mechanical,  would 
not  God  as  a  Father,  have  chosen  that  which  would 
show  men  most  of  His  heart,  and  come  home  to  them 
with  the  most  force  of  personal  appeal? 

It  became  Him;  for  no  other  way  is  it  conceivable 
that  He  could,  so  fully,  have  shown  us  the  intense  evil 
of  sin.  When  we  see  it  reaching  in  its  effect  even  to 
the  throne  of  God  and  dragging  down  the  eternal  Son 
of  God  from  the  bosom  of  the  Father  to  a  temporary 
share  in  the  suffering  which  it  has  brought  upon  the 
race,  then  only  do  we  realize  how  monstrous  and  how 
terrible  is  the  thing  of  which  we  are  so  ready  to  make 
light. 

Two  questions  now,  growing  out  of  this  theme  sug- 
gest themselves  for  our  earnest  thought. 

If  it  became  the  infinite  and  Holy  God  to  prepare 
for  us  a  Saviour  through  such  costly  processes  of  suffer- 
ing as  this,  how  does  it  become  us  sinners  to  treat  such 
a  Saviour? 

Remember,  thoughtless  hearer,  ready  now  to  dismiss 
this  offer  of  salvation,  as  you  have  so  often  done  before, 
with  Felix's   promise   of    attention  at   some  more   con- 

266 


venient  season,  it  is  no  uncostly  gift  with  which  you 
thus  trifle.  He  whom  you  are  content  to  leave  thus  to 
stand  at  your  heart's  unopened  door  went  through  fire 
and  water  to  rescue  your  soul.  For  that  He  wrestled 
in  the  wilderness  with  the  arch-enemy,  for  that  He  was 
wrung  with  anguish  in  the  garden,  for  that  He  cried 
upon  the  tree,  "My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  for- 
saken me?  " 

Was  it  worthy  of  God  to  give  up  His  Son  to  such 
suffering  for  you,  was  it  worthy  of  Christ  to  go  through 
all  this  that  He  might  qualify  Himself  to  be  the  Saviour 
of  your  soul,  and  is  it  worthy  of  a  man  to  treat  such  a 
Saviour  with  neglect?  Oh,  surely  there  is  but  one 
becoming  reception  for  such  a  Saviour  as  this,  and  that 
is  the  reception  which  enthrones  Him  forever  in  the 
contrite  heart,  and  serves  him  with  all  the  powers  of  a 
consecrated  life. 

2.  And  then  the  other  question.  If  it  became  Him 
for  whom  are  all  things  and  by  whom  are  all  things;  to 
make  the  captain  of  our  salvation  perfect  through 
suffering,  how  shall  we  expect  the  saved  themselves  to 
be  made  perfect?  If  the  one  man  who  through  his 
whole  life  was  holy,  harmless,  undefiled,  and  separate 
from  sinners,  could,  nevertheless,  attain  the  perfection 
of  His  victorious  manhood  only  by  this  discipline  of 
trial  and  temptation,  shall  we  whose  very  natures  are 
stained  through  and  through  with  sin  think  to  be  made 
perfect  at  any  less  cost,  or  by  an  easier  process? 

Christ  was  the  Pioneer  of  our  Salvation.  He 
opened  the  path  by  which  the  "many  sons"  are  to  be 
brought  to  glory.  There  is  no  other  path  to  glory  for 
us  than  that  which  is  marked  by  the  prints  of  His 
bleeding  feet.  It  was  a  hard  and  thorny  path  to  Him. 
Shall  we  expect  it  to  be  made  smooth  and  strewn  with 
flowers  for  us? 

267 


Always,  always  these  two  things  are  put  together,  — • 
a  share  in  Christ's  sufferings,  and  a  share  in  His  glory. 
The  one  is  never  to  be  separated  from  the  other. 

But  then  there  is  this  other  precious  thought,  that  if 
we  thus  share  in  Christ's  sufferings,  we  shall  come  to 
share  also  in  the  glory  to  which  they  lead,  but,  what  is 
better,  in  the  fruit  which  they  bring.  If  there  is  a 
sense  in  which  Christ's  sufferings  were  unique  and  sepa- 
rate from  all  other  suffering  in  God's  universe,  there  is 
also  a  sense  in  which  they  are  the  pattern  of  what  every 
one  must  pass  through  who  would  be  made  a  helper  and 
a  comforter  to  others.  There  is  but  one  anointing  for 
that  holy  priesthood.  It  is  the  anointing  of  pain  and 
sorrow.  Do  you  remember  with  what  eagerness  Paul 
seemed  to  reach  out  after  his  Lord's  cup  of  suffering 
that  he  too  might  drink  of  the  same?  And  why?  That 
he  too  might  have  some  share  in  that  unspeakable  joy  of 
leading  many  sons  of  God  unto  glory.  "Therefore," 
he  exclaims,  "I  endure  all  things  for  the  elect's  sakes 
that  they  may  also  obtain  the  salvation  which  is  in 
Jesus  Christ  with  eternal  glory."  Ah,  was  not  that 
worth  while? 

Dear  friend,  has  God  put  the  cup  of  suffering  to 
your  lips?  Has  He  laid  the  cross  upon  you?  Take 
this  high  consolation  —  there  is  none  higher  —  for  your 
own,  that  He  who  thus  prepared  the  Captain  of  your  sal- 
vation for  His  great  work  is  preparing  you  for  some 
share  in  that  same  blessed  ministry  of  healing  and  help. 
He  is  initiating  you  into  the  holy  priesthood  of  com- 
forters. He  is  conferring  upon  you  an  ordination  that 
no  human  hands  can  give,  and  presently  He  will  send 
you  forth  with  a  heart  throbbing  with  sympathy,  and 
lips  touched  with  the  fire  of  love  to  comfort  others  with 
the  comfort  wherewith  you  yourself  have  been  com- 
forted of  God. 

268 


MEDIOCRITY. 

"  And  likewise  he  that  had  received  two,  he  also  gained 
other  two."— Matt.  25:  17. 

This  parable  recognizes,  without  pausing  to  debate 
or  justify  it,  the  universal  fact  of  inequality  in  the  distri- 
bution of  God's  gifts.  Look  where  we  may,  this  ine- 
quality confronts  us.  In  surroundings,  in  opportunities, 
in  health,  in  physical  powers,  in  intellectual  keenness 
and  grasp,  in  gifts  of  genius,  in  everything  that  tends  to 
happiness  and  honor  in  life,  men  enter  life  with  the  most 
various  equipment.  One  is  born  in  a  filthy  cellar,  to  an 
inheritance  of  squalor  and  misery,  another  enters  life  in 
a  home  rilled  with  all  comforts  and  refinements.  One  is 
doomed  to  struggle  from  birth  against  the  hopeless  odds 
of  inherited  disease,  while  another  begins  his  career  en 
dowed  with  the  soundness  and  vigor  of  an  infant  Hercu- 
les. To  one,  study  is  the  weary,  ineffectual  struggle 
of  a  dull  mind  with  problems  that  perpetually  elude  its 
grasp,  to  another,  the  exhilarating  play  of  a  keen  intel- 
lect which  finds  only  pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  its 
strength.  A  Raphael  at  twenty,  paints  pictures  which 
bring  the  world  to  his  feet,  while  another  goes  from  mas- 
ter to  master,  from  school  to  school,  and  labors  through 
a  life-time  of  painstaking  diligence,  only  to  spoil  every 
canvas  he  touches  and  win  the  derision  of  the  critics  for 
his  pains. 

So  the  Sovereign  Giver  of  all  has  disposed  it,  and 
who  shall  dispute  his  decree?  Whatever  men  may  say 
about  election   as   a  religious  doctrine,    the   principle    of 

269 


a  diffeaence  put  between  men  by  God's  sovereign  dis- 
posal, a  difference  with  which  their  merit  has  nothing  to 
do,  and  for  which  he  gives  no  reasons,  runs  all  through 
life.  There  is  no  man  who  does  not  find  himself  hedged 
in  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  by  limitations  absolutely 
fixed  by  the  measure  of  endowment  and  opportunity 
with  which  it  pleased  God  that  he  should  enter  upon  the 
race  of  life. 

Now  the  result  of  this  inequality  is  that  most  of  us 
find  ourselves,  when  we  come  to  measure  ourselves 
against  our  fellowmen,  in  the  competitions  of  life,  just 
where  this  man  who  received  the  two  talents  found  him- 
self, somewhere  between  the  extremes,  that  is,  in  a  posi- 
tion of  mediocrity,  neither  extraordinarily  gifted,  nor  ex- 
traordinarily lacking,  neither  giants,  in  other  words, 
nor  dwarfs,  but,  as  the  phrase  goes,  just  "  average  men." 

And  yet  though  it  is  the  very  nature  of  the  case  the 
lot  of  the  immense  majority  of  the  human  race,  this  lot 
of  mediocrity  is  one  against  which  we  all  more  or  less 
rebel.  We  chafe  under  it  as  one  of  the  hard  conditions 
of  life,  and  even  find  excuse  for  not  doing  what  we  might 
with  the  two  talents  entrusted  to  us,  in  the  fact  that  they 
are  but  two,   and  not  five  like  some  fellow-servant's. 

Mediocrity  !  The  very  word  has  the  sound  of  a  re- 
proach. We  say  in  a  tone  of  disparagement  concerning 
this  one  or  that  one:  "He  never  rises  above  midioc- 
rity. "  If  this  be  the  fault  of  his  own  indolence  it  is  in- 
deed a  reproach.  But  what  if  God  never  meant  him  to 
rise  above  mediocrity?  What  if  He  himself  did  not  raise 
him  above  mediocrity  in  the  measure  of  endowment  with 
which  He  sent  him  into  the  world?  I  think  we  may 
find  in  this  subject  of  Mediocrity  a  theme  of  practical 
value  for  us  as  Christians  to  reflect  upon  to-day. 

I.  In  the  first  place  then,  let  me  remind  you  that 
in  the  nature  of  the   case    the   vast  majority  of  the   race 

270 


must  needs  be  mediocre  people.  Mediocrity  is  the  un- 
avoidable result  of  the  variety  in  uniformity  which  is  the 
underlying  plan  of  the  whole  creation.  The  trees  of  a 
pine  forest  are  all  alike,  and  yet  unlike.  There  is  a  uni- 
form type  or  plan  tending  to  the  production  of  a  tree  of 
a  certain  shape  and  size  ;  yet  each  tree  has  its  own  in- 
dividuality. And  the  result  of  this  variety  in  uniformity 
is,  that,  while  here  and  there  a  tall  tree  will  stand  out 
above  the  rest  and  here  and  there  a  short  one  fall  below 
them,  the  great  mass  will  vary  but  little,  one  way  or  the 
other,  from  an  average  line  which  marks  the  height  of 
the  forest. 

The  only  escape  from  this  phenomenon  of  medioc- 
rity, would  be  by  the  sacrifice  of  variety  to  an  absolute, 
unvarying  uniformity.  The  condition  called  mediocrity, 
in  other  words,  could  be  made  to  disappear  by  the  intro- 
duction of  absolute  monotony  in  its  place,  and  in  no  other 
way.  If  all  men  were  equally  brilliant,  equally  strong, 
equally  well-balanced,  there  would  be  an  end  of  emi- 
nence and  of  mediocrity  at  once,  and  we  should  have  a 
world  like  a  boy's  company  of  pewter  soldiers,  all  run  in 
the  same  mould.  This  would  be  no  gain  in  interest  and 
picturesqueness  of  life  certainly.  It  may  well  be  ques- 
tioned whether  it  could  be  any  more  of  a  gain  in  whole- 
someness,  in  intellectual  and  moral  vigor  and  develop- 
ment. 

Opinions  differ  as  to  landscapes.  I  have  heard  some 
men  say  that  to  them  a  level  prairie  with  neither  hill  nor 
tree  was  more  beautiful  than  the  Alps.  But  the  general 
consent  of  mankind  still  awards  the  palm  both  in 
beauty  and  in  healthfulness  to  the  landscape  diversified 
with  mountain  and  valley,  hill  and  plain.  There  is  a  sig- 
nificance in  that  phrase  "  a  dead  level  "  by  which  we 
characterize  the  absence  of  inequalities.  Such  a  level  is 
"dead,"    in    more  senses   than   one.     But  if  there   are 

271 


mountains,  there  must  be  valleys  ;  if  there  are  hills  there 
must  be  plains.  Raise  all  alike  and  you  have  but  a  table- 
land instead  of  a  prairie,  the  one  is  flat  and  monotonous 
as  the  other. 

Society  is  like  a  landscape,  unspeakably  better  and 
richer  for  "the  diversities  of  gifts"  which  it  presents  in 
such  endless  variety.  Yet  among  these  diversities  emi- 
nence in  any  direction  must  needs  be  rare,  else  would  it 
cease  to  be  eminence.  The  majority  cannot  rise  above 
the  humbler  levels  of  mediocrity.  For  again  we  must 
remember  that  mediocrity  is  a  sliding  scale.  What 
seems  eminence  within  a  narrow  horizon,  becomes  medi- 
ocrity the  moment  the  horizon  is  broadened. 

Mt.  Mansfield  (at  which  I  used  to  gaze  in  my  boy- 
hood) is  a  monarch  as  he  stands  among  his  fellows  of 
the  Green  Mountain  range,  but  put  him  with  his  4,200 
ft.  of  elevation,  by  the  side  of  the  mountains  of  the 
world,  the  Alps,  the  Andes,  the  Rockies,  and  he  is  a 
very  humble  and  commonplace  mountain  after  all. 

Shall  we  then  say  that  the  many  are  sacrificed  to  the 
few, — that  mediocrity  exists  simply  as  a  foil  to  eminence? 
This  seems  to  me  to  have  been  the  idea  of  the  Greek 
philosophy.  The  multitude  was  to  toil  and  spin  that  phil- 
osophers might  study  and  scintillate.  But  a  more 
thoughtful  view  of  life  shows  that  the  few  exist  rather 
for  the  many.  The  mountain  pierces  the  clouds  and 
confronts  the  storms,  that  from  its  sides  may  burst  the 
springs  whose  streams  make  the  valleys  laugh  with  ver- 
dure and  the  meadows  teem  with  flocks.  It  is  on  the 
plains  that  the  world's  harvests  are  reaped.  So  it  is  by 
the  many,  the  unnamed,  unpraised  multitude  of  "com- 
monplace "  men  and  women,  that  the  world's  great  work 
is  done. 

Officers  are  needful  to  an  army,  but  an  army  of  offi- 
cers would    be    a    laughing-stock.      It    is    the    common 

272 


soldier  who  does  the  hard  fighting  that  wins  victories. 
It  is  the  solid  phalanx  with  fixed  bayonets  that  is  irre- 
sistible. 

The  solid  fabric  of  civilization  does  not  owe  half  so 
much  to  the  men  who  make  speeches  and  go  to  congress 
as  it  owes  to  the  men  who  follow  the  plow  in  the  furrow 
and  the  women  who  bear  and  rear  the  children  at  home. 
These  are  commonplace  things  but  they  make  the  world. 
And  it  is  well  that  it  should  be  so.  There  is  safety  in 
such  life,  if  there  is  no  glory.  Few  can  bear  the  steady 
glare  of  the  footlights.  To  be  always  on  exhibition  is 
a  severe  moral  strain.  For  the  most  of  us  it  is  better 
that  our  work  be  done  quietly  and  with  as  little  of  the 
theatrical  as  possible. 

2.  Well,  we  can  agree  to  this  without  much 
trouble  ;  we  can  see  that  mediocrity  is  a  necessary  and 
useful  thing  in  a  perfect  world  ;  we  can  admit  that  a 
world  in  which  all  were  heroes  and  generals,  poets  and 
prodigies,  would  be  a  queer  world  to  live  in  ;  we  are 
quite  satisfied  that  the  majority  of  the  Lord's  servants 
should  receive  but  two  or  three  talents,  some  of  them 
even  but  one,  provided  only  we  can  have  five. 

We  have  no  quarrel  with  the  principle  of  inequality, 
so  long  as  that  principle  is  so  applied  that  it  enables  us 
to  look  down  on  others.  It  is  only  when,  from  the 
height  of  an  eminence  we  have  striven  in  vain  to  reach, 
they  look  down  upon  us,  that  it  is  hard  to  bear.  There 
is  something  in  us  which  chafes  at  the  consciousness  of 
being  lost  sight  of  in  a  herd.  The  desire  to  excel,  the 
love  of  preeminence  is  rooted  deep  in  human  nature. 
Competition,  the  struggle  to  be  first,  is  almost  the  first 
law  of  life.  It  is  a  useful  instinct.  Though  few  can 
realize  their  ambition,  though  but  one  in  a  thousand  at- 
tains the  eminence  to  which  the  thousand  have  alike  as- 
pired,    still    the   whole    thousand    advance    farther    and 

273 


achieve  more  than  if  no  such  strife  to  be  first  had  urged 
them  on. 

A  company  of  swimmers  were  enjoying  themselves 
in  the  ocean  at  some  distance  from  shore,  when  a  friend 
who  stood  watching  them  from  the  beach,  saw  some 
distance  beyond  them  the  sharp  dorsal  fin  of  a  shark 
protruding  above  the  water.  Not  wishing  to  confuse 
and  paralyze  the  swimmers  by  telling  them  of  their  dan- 
ger, yet  eager  to  bring  them  to  land  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible he  snatched  his  watch  from  his  pocket,  and  holding 
it  up  cried,  "  I  will  give  this  to  the  one  who  first  reaches 
the  shore. "  Supposing  themselves  challenged  to  a  proof  of 
their  skill,  the  swimmers  struck  out  lustily,  and  reached  the 
shore  before  the  shark  overtook  them.  But  one  gained 
the  offered  prize;  but  when  they  turned  and  saw  the 
danger  from  which  they  had  escaped,  those  who  lost 
were  more  than  consoled  for  their  disappointment. 

So  it  is  that  in  life,  for  one  who  gains  or  has  the 
power  to  gain  prizes  of  distinction  for  which  so  many 
seek,  hundreds  are  saved  by  the  endeavor  to  gain  it,  from 
miseries  of  ignorance,  poverty,  and  even  vice,  to  which 
they  had  else  inevitably  fallen  victims. 

In  youth  we  all  hope  to  excel.  We  dream  of  some 
eminent  attainment,  some  rare  achievement,  some  heroic 
deed,  which  shall  set  us  far  above  the  common  level.  So 
be  it  !  Properly  curbed  it  is  a  wholesome  ambition.  I 
would  not  give  much  for  the  future  of  the  youth  who  had 
never  felt  it.  And  yet,  almost  without  exception,  we  are 
doomed  to  disappointment.  For  a  time  perhaps,  we  may 
easily  distance  the  little  circle  with  which  we  measure 
ourselves  ;  but  as  we  grow  older  and  measure  ourselves 
against  larger  and  larger  numbers  of  our  fellows  in  tasks 
more  and  more  serious  and  difficult,  as  from  the  top  of 
each  height  that  we  succeed  in  scaling  we  discover  others 
farther  and  farther  away, — the  conviction  is  at  last  forced 

274 


upon  us  that  we  are  not  and  never  can  be  anything  more 
than  mediocre  people,  after  all, — much  better  endowed, 
much  more  successful,  doubtless  than  some,  perhaps  than 
many  others  ;  but  not  better  than  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands of  our  race,  not  preeminent  enough  in  any  sphere 
to  be  conspicuous  above  the  multitude  of  others  whose 
measure  of  ability  and  achievement  is  fully  equal  to  our 
own. 

It  seems  a  hard  fate — to  see  others  climbing  the 
heights  we  hoped  to  climb,  winning  the  prizes  we  hoped 
to  win,  shining  with  the  brilliancy  of  stars  of  the  first 
magnitude,  and  to  accept  for  ourselves  the  lot  of  the  un- 
distinguished, the  ordinary,  the  commonplace.  It  brings 
a  sharp  temptation,  a  temptation  which  appeals  with 
power  to  the  bad  side  of  the  universal  desire  to  excel — 
the  temptation,  viz.  to  conclude  that  our  work,  because 
not  conspicuous,  is  not  worth  doing, — the  temptation  to 
imitate,  not  the  wisdom  of  this  servant  who  received  the 
two  talents  but  the  folly  of  that  other  who  received  but 
one,  and  refuse  to  turn  to  any  account  at  all  an  endow- 
ment which  is  not  large  enough  to  yield  brilliant  results. 
What  use,  we  exclaim,  in  wearing  life  away  in  the  per- 
formance of  these  commonplace  tasks  which  the  world 
would  never  miss  if  they  were  undone,  which  it  will 
never  praise  be  they  done  never  so  well?  No  doubt  there 
is  something  discouraging  here.  As  Bishop  Brooks  has 
well  said,  the  hero's  is  not  the  hardest  task,  for  he  works 
in  the  eye  of  the  multitude,  with  their  huzzas  to  cheer 
him  on.  Harder  is  the  task  of  the  common  man  who 
works  on  unheeded,  with  no  consciousness  of  unusual 
achievement  to  sustain  him,  and  no  expectation  of  ap- 
plause at  the  end. 

3.  What  antidote  can  we  find  to  this  disheartening 
influence  of  the  consciousness  of  mediocrity?  The  anti- 
dote lies  in  the  very  thought  suggested  by  this   parable, 

275 


the  thought  of  the  relation  of  our  life-work  to  God,  first  as 
being  his  appointment,  second  as  being  for  his  glory, 
third  as  being  under  his  eye. 

a.  First  as  being  his  appointment.  The  sovereignty 
of  God,  once  grasped  with  hearty  acquiesence,  is  a  won- 
derful moral  tonic.  It  puts  iron  into  the  blood.  It  has 
made  the  men  who  have  believed  it  profoundly,  always 
and  everywhere  men  of  grit,  men  of  moral  fibre;  staunch 
as  heart  of  oak  to  face  the  hard  things  in  life.  "  May  I 
not  do  what  I  will  with  mine  own?"  "Shall  the  thing 
formed  say  to  him  that  formed  it,  why  hast  thou  made 
me  thus?  "  are  the  questions  which  have  power  to  silence 
repining  and  rebuke  envy.  "God  wills  it,"  is,  to  one  who 
recognizes  God's  absolute  authority  and  believes  in  his 
perfect  wisdom,  a  sufficient  reply  to  all  questionings  con- 
cerning the  fewness  of  the  talents  with  which  God  has 
been  pleased  to  entrust  him.  You  and  I  are  soldiers  on 
the  battle-field  of  life.  As  such  it  does  not  lie  with  us  to 
select  our  posts  or  choose  our  duty.  If  the  commander 
bids  us  lead  a  company  in  a  brilliant  charge  which  will 
cover  our  names  with  glory,  it  is  well.  If  he  assigns 
us  to  unnoticed  duty  at  the  rear,  or  bids  us  take  our 
place  in  line  with  a  hundred  others  to  receive  a  cavalry 
charge  and  roll  in  the  dust  with  the  unnamed  multitude 
of  the  wounded  and  dying  when  it  is  over,  again,  it  is 
well. 

b.  For,  again,  we  are  not  giving  this  warfare  in  our 
own  name  or  for  our  own  glory.  If  the  disposal  is  God's, 
the  cause  is  God's  also.  The  servants  who  received  the 
talents,  whether  five  or  two  or  one,  received  them  not  to 
enrich  themselves  withal,  but  to  administer  for  their 
master.  To  him  each  task  had  its  value,  the  small  and 
obscure  no  less  than  the  conspicuous. 

This  is  the  evil  side  so  rarely  absent  from  the  ambi- 
tion to  excel,   that  that  ambition  centers  so  largely   in 

276 


self.  That  by  which  we  can  win  glory  for  ourselves  We 
account  worth  doing,  and  nothing  else.  In  a  race,  those 
who  see  that  they  are  hopelesssly  distanced,  soon  drop 
out.  Why  should  they  run  it  to  a  finish,  when  no  glory 
can  come  to  them  as  the  result.  Not  so  the  mowers  in 
the  hayfield.  He  who  cannot  cross  the  field  with  the 
swiftest,  still  swings  his  scythe  as  he  can  ;  for  he  knows 
his  labor,  too,  will  count  in  the  harvest,  and  share,  ac- 
cording to  its  sum  in  the  reward.  If  life  were  a  race  run 
for  glory,  as  many  seem  to  take  it,  here  too,  it  might  be 
wise  for  the  slow  of  foot  to  drop  out.  But  life  is  a  far 
other  thing  than  that.  It  is  serious  work  under  God's 
leadership,  which  aims  at  his  glory  in  a  harvest  of  eter- 
nal value,  in  the  bringing  in  of  an  everlasting  kingdom, 
and  in  which  each  laborer,  conspicuous  or  unnoticed, 
each  task,  great  or  small,  has  its  distinct  plan  and  worth. 
So  that  to  one  who  has  come  to  look  at  life  from  this 
point  of  view,  to  live  it  with  this  thought  of  God's  glory 
as  its  end,  this  whole  question  of  eminence  or  medioc- 
rity drops  out  of  the  account.  To  him  the  important 
thing  is  the  7vork  done,  not  the  glory  reflected  on  the 
worker. 

Charles  Kingsley,  in  all  the  ardor  of  youth,  thrilling 
with  energy  and  conscious  of  intellectual  power,  finds 
himself  set  down  on  a  bit  of  English  moorland,  scattered 
over  which,  in  three  little  hamlets  are  some  800  souls 
mainly  stolid,  lumbering  farmhands  and  laborers,  among 
them  all  not  a  grown  man  or  woman  who  can  read  or 
write.  And  is  this  to  be  his  work?  Surely  there  is  not 
much  chance  for  honor  or  distinction  here!  A  mere 
country  rector,  one  among  hundreds,  that  is  all.  There 
are  men  in  the  ministry  who  are  spoiled  for  life  by  such 
an  experience  as  that.  What  is  the  use,  they  say  to  them- 
selves, of  trying  to  do  anything  or  be  anybody  in  a  place 
like  this?   Kingsley  has  told  us  how  he  felt  about  it.    "I 

277 


will  confess  to  you,"  he  says,  "  that  in  those  first  heats  of 
youth  this  little  patch  of  moorland  in  which  I  have  struck 
roots  as  firm  as  the  wild  fir  trees  do,  looked,  at  moments, 
rather  like  a  prison  than  a  palace, — that  my  foolish  young 
heart  would  sigh  ;  oh,  that  I  had  wings, — not  as  a  dove, 
to  fly  home  to  its  nest  and  croodle  there,  but  as  an  eagle 
to  swoop  away  over  land  and  sea  in  a  rampant  and  self- 
glorifying  fashion  on  which  I  now  look  back  as  something 
altogether  unwholesome  and  undesirable.  It  is  not 
learnt  in  a  day,  the  golden  lesson  of  the  old  collect,  to 
love  the  thing  which  is  commanded  and  to  desire  that 
which  is  promised, — not  in  a  day  ;  but  in  fifteen  years 
one  can  spell  out  a  little  of  its  worth." 

And  so  accepting  this  obscure  commonplace  task  in 
this  spirit  of  desire  to  love  the  thing  which  was  com- 
manded, and  doing  it  as  unto  the  Lord,  and  not  as  unto 
men,  he  made  of  that  prison  a  palace,  as  he  himself 
bears  joyful  witness,  transformed  that  golden  commun- 
ity into  a  community  of  intelligent  and  reverent  worship- 
ers, and  found  his  lowly  task,  accepted  first  for  duty's 
sake,  rich  in  unlooked  for  joys  and  abounding  in  soul- 
satisfying  rewards. 

c.  And  lastly,  the  antidote  to  this  discontent  bred  of 
the  consciousness  of  mediocrity  lies  in  the  thought  that 
we  are  doing  our  work  under  God's  eye.  It  takes  no  em- 
inence of  gifts  to  win  his  attention.  He  watches  as 
closely  and  reviews  as  carefully  the  work  of  the  servant 
to  whom  he  gives  two  talents,  as  of  him  who  has  received 
five.  For  what  to  him  is  the  difference  between  five  tal- 
ents and  two  which  seems  so  immense  to  the  servants 
themselves  ?  The  loftiest  pinnacle  of  human  fame  to 
Him  is  but  the  summit  of  an  anthill,  scarce  visible 
above  the  plain  on  which  it  stands. 

To  him  fidelity,  in  tasks  great  or  small,  is  the  one 
concern.      For  this  he  watches  ;  on  this  he  smiles  ;    and 

278 


this  and  this  alone  he  will  reward.  The  thought  of  his 
interest  and  commendation  can  well  console  us  for  that 
absence  of  human  attention  and  praise  which  is  insep- 
arable from  the  common,  every  day  lot. 

To  him  it  matters  not  how  splendid  or  how  humble 
the  endowment.  What  he  asks  is  that  we  make  the 
most  of  it.  If  we  do  that,  then  whether  we  have  received 
five  talents  or  two,  or  even  but  one,  we  shall  be  alike 
sure  of  a  reward  which  will  lift  us  to  a  glory  above  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  earthly  praise,  and  ensure  to  us  an 
increase  of  gifts,  an  enlargement  of  opportunities  beyond 
the  scope  of  the  loftiest  earthly  ambition  ;  the  reward  of 
hearing  from  the  lips  of  Him  who  fixed  the  grade  and 
set  the  measure  of  our  work  the  word  of  approval  : 
"Well  done,  good  and  faithful  servant!  Thou  hast 
been  faithful  over  a  few  things  ;  I  will  make  thee  ruler 
over  many  things.     Enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 


279 


DEBORAH'S  ASTROLOGY. 

They  fought  from  heaven.     The  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  Sisera. — Judges  5:  20. 

Have  we  then  astrology  in  the  Bible?  Were  our 
fathers  right  after  all  who  believed  a  few  centuries  ago 
that  human  destiny  was  linked  in  some  strange  manner 
to  the  movements  of  the  stars,  that  the  life  of  every  man 
was  ruled  by  the  influence  of  the  planet  under  whose  as- 
cendant it  began,  and  checkered  with  good  or  evil  for- 
tune according  as  the  planet  formed  conjunctions  with 
its  fellows,  now  baleful,  now  benign? 

Abraham,  we  know,  when  at  the  call  of  God  he 
forsook  the  Chaldees,  turned  his  back  on  a  nation  of 
star-gazers.  Indeed  from  these  very  kinsmen  of  Abra- 
ham it  was  that,  centuries  later,  through  the  medium  of 
the  Saracens  our  forefathers  themselves  learned  this  oc- 
cult science,  (and  learned  it  so  well  that  some  of  its 
technical  phrases  still  have  currency  in  our  daily  speech.) 
But  the  children  of  Abraham  learned  no  such  arts  either 
from  their  father  or  their  father's  God.  It  was  no  such 
vain  superstition  as  this  which  drew  from  victorious 
Deborah  this  exultant  shout.  In  truth  it  was  no  defined 
influence  of  the  stars  which  was  present  to  her  mind. 
We  must  not  forget  that  we  are  here  with  poetry,  and 
oriental  poetry  at  that,  and  nothing  more  can  safely  be 
assumed  than  an  intention  of  the  poet  to  declare  in  the 
strongest  possible  form  of  speech,  that  Sisera,  as  the 
enemy  of  God,  against  God  in  the  endeavor  to  oppress 
God's  people,  had  all  things  in  God's  creation,   whether 

280 


things  on  earth  or  things  in  heaven,  even  to  the  very 
stars  in  their  courses,  arrayed  against  him. 

But  this  was  not  mere  poetry.  It  was  truth,  literal 
and  exact  truth.  The  imagination  of  the  poet  even  in 
this  loftiest  flight  has  been  quite  overtaken  by  the 
patiently  advancing  steps  of  science. 

I  ask  your  attention  this  evening  then,  to  the  truth, 
veiled  under  this  sublime  poetic  imagery  ;  that  he  who 
opposes  God  has  nothing  less  than  the  resistance  of  the  entire 
universe  to  overcome.  The  stars  fought  against  Sisera  be- 
cause Sisera  fought  against  God.  But  there  are  other 
ways  of  fighting  against  God  than  by  leading  forth  an 
armed  host  to  oppress  and  persecute  God's  people. 
Every  man  fights  against  God  who  undertakes  to  accom- 
plish what  God  disapproves, — whose  ends  conflict,  wit- 
tingly or  unwittingly,  with  God's  ends, — whose  life  says 
to  God,  reversing  the  words  of  Jesus  in  the  Garden  ; 
"  My  will  not  thine  be  done." 

That  man  fights  against  God,  for  instance,  who 
seeks  to  found  an  empire  in  duplicity  and  bloodshed  ; 
that  man  fights  against  God  who  seeks  preferment  by 
tortuous  methods  of  political  chicane  ;  that  man  fights 
against  God  who  seeks  to  make  a  fortune  or  rise  to 
power  by  corrupt  use  of  the  machinery  of  a  city  govern- 
ment ;  that  man  fights  against  God  who  attempts  to 
build  up  a  successful  business  by  methods  other  than 
those  of  strict  integrity  ;  that  man  fights  against  God 
who  seeks  to  give  currency  to  a  false  doctrine  in  religion 
or  a  false  principle  in  government. 

You  and  I,  my  friends,  whenever  we  do  these  or  the 
like  of  these  things  ;  whenever  we  aid  or  abet  those  who 
do  them  ;  whenever,  in  any  way,  we  seek  what  God  dis- 
approves, or  seek  ends  in  themselves  worthy  by  methods 
which  God  disapproves  ;  plant  ourselves  in  opposition 
to  him,  and  in  so  doing  array  against  ourselves  the  resis- 

281 


tance,  not  passive  merely,  but  active, — resistance  which 
may  properly  be  called  a  fight, — of  the  whole  material 
universe.  Observe,  I  say,  the  material  universe.  In  the 
world  of  mind  there  are  powers  of  darkness  which  fight 
on  the  side  of  such  a  man.  But  the  world  of  matter  and 
of  force,  in  all  its  grand  totality, — earth,  water,  air,  fire, 
sun,  moon,  and  stars,  gravity,  magnetism,  heat, — all 
things  and  all  forces  that  are, — combines  in  one  unceas- 
ing movement  toward  his  defeat  and  destruction. 

To  see  that  this  is  no  unfounded  or  extravagant 
representation  we  have  only  to  consider  that  stupendous 
truth  which  it  is  the  glory  of  science  in  our  day  to  have 
set  forth  in  such  clear  light  as  it  never  stood  in  before  : 
the  oneness  of  7iature.  Take  e.  g. ,  the  new  doctrine 
known  to  scientific  men  under  the  name  of  "  correlation 
of  forces."  The  limits  of  this  correlation  are  not  yet 
fully  defined,  nor  is  this  the  place  to  expound  them  in 
detail.  But  without  attempting  to  do  this,  it  is  enough 
to  say  that  many  forms  of  force  which  were  formerly 
supposed  to  be  quite  distinct,  such  as  light,  heat,  elec- 
tricity, the  momentum  of  moving  bodies,  the  expansive 
force  of  steam  and  gases,  and  the  like,  are  now  known 
to  be  so  many  interchangeable  forms  of  one  thing,  viz. 
motion  ;  and  that  instead  of  force  being  ' '  generated  and 
lost,"  as  it  used  to  be  said,  in  the  various  natural  and 
mechanical  processes  that  were  all  the  time  going  on, 
there  is  really  only  a  change  from  one  form  of  force  to 
another  ;  as  when  the  heat  of  a  fire  is  transmuted  into 
the  expansive  form  of  steam,  and  that  into  the  motion  of 
a  fly-wheel,  which  in  its  turn  moves  the  flying  lathes  or 
spindles  of  a  factory. 

A  step  farther  in  this  direction  shows  us  that  the 
ceaseless  activity  and  change  which  is  going  on  upon  the 
earth  is  kept  up  by  the  steady  supply  of  this  force  of  mo- 
tive power,    in   the  form  of  light  and  heat,  from  the  sun. 

282 


What  the  heat  is  to  the  body,  keeping  in  motion  a  cur- 
rent of  blood  through  every  part  without  which  the  vital 
processes  could  not  go  on  ; — what  the  sea  is  to  the  world, 
supplying  in  the  form  of  clouds  the  water  which,  de- 
scending as  rain  and  gathering  into  streams,  waters  the 
crops,  turns  the  mill-wheels,  and  bears  the  commerce  of 
the  nations,  that  is  the  sun  to  the  earth,  and  to  all  the 
planets  which  circle  around  it.  There  is  not  a  form  of 
motion  or  of  life  that  is  not  dependent  upon  its  rays. 
Were  its  fire  put  out  every  living  thing  would  die  ;  the 
seas  would  freeze  to  their  very  depths,  and  the  bare 
earth,  one  mass  of  rock  and  ice,  its  very  vapors  con- 
gealed, its  air  stirred  by  no  breeze,  its  echoes  waked  by 
no  sound,  would  go  careering  on  its  way  through  night 
wrapped  in  the  silence  of  eternal  death. 

But  not  only  is  the  earth  thus  linked  with  the  sun 
into  the  inseparable  unity  of  a  single  system  ;  the  moon 
also  at  whose  bidding  the  tides  ebb  and  flow  ;  the  planets 
that,  circling  with  it  round  a  common  center,  by  their  at- 
tractions influence  its  motions,  and  thus  its  seasons, 
temperature,  climate,  are  all  parts  of  that  same  unity. 
This  whole  planet  is,  as  it  were,  a  single  organism  per- 
vaded with  a  common  life. 

But  surely  in  speaking  of  the  universe  as  a  unit,  we 
must  stop  here.  Surely  when  we  have  reached  the  orbit 
of  the  outmost  planet  we  have  reached  a  rim  that 
shuts  us  in, — sun,  planets,  satellites  together,  an  isolated 
island  in  the  great  deep  of  space,  with  no  relations  to 
what  lies  beyond, — nothing  to  bridge  the  chasm  of  empti- 
ness which  separates  us  from  the  fixed  star.  Nay,  not 
so.  Across  this  chasm  messages  come  and  go  on  a 
bridge  of  light,  and  by  the  chains  of  that  subtle  thing  that 
we  call  gravity  this  island  of  ours  is  securely  moored  to 
all  those  other  countless  isles  that  crowd  the  shoreless 
ocean.      Here,    too,    science   is   delighting   us   with  ever 

283 


fresh  revelations.  'Tis  but  a  few  years  since  an  instru- 
ment, the  spectroscope,  was  invented,  by  which  the 
messages  that  light  brings  us  from  those  worlds  so  im- 
measurably far  away,  can  be  interpreted  ;  and  thus  we 
have  learned  to  recognize  the  presence  in  those  distant 
orbs  of  the  very  same  substances,  the  iron,  the  sodium, 
hydrogen,  and  so  on,  of  which  our  own  mountains  and 
seas  are  composed. 

In  our  own  day,  too,  astronomers  have  learned  that 
as  the  planets  circle  around  the  sun,  so  the  sun  itself  is 
moving  among  the  stars,  swayed  by  some  mightier  at- 
traction, in  cycles  that  must  be  measured  by  aeons  around 
some  center  yet  unknown  ;  a  center  which  devout  astrono- 
mers, like  Mitchell,  have  sometimes  conceived  of  as  the 
very  pivot  of  the  universe,  the  throne  of  the  Creator.  Yet 
sublime  as  is  such  a  thought,  it  is  more  likely  that  that 
far  away  star  itself,  together  with  all  the  glittering  host 
that  stud  our  sky,  forms  but  a  subordinate  part,  a  wheel 
within  a  wheel  of  a  still  vaster  universe,  the  bounds  of 
which  thought  itself  faints  in  the  attempt  to  reach. 

But  why  dwell  on  these  revelations  of  physics  and 
astronomy?  Simply  to  bring  in  as  strong  relief  as  pos- 
sible the  unity  of  nature,  the  oneness  of  this  vast  creation 
of  God,  to  make  not  only  clear,  but  vivid,  if  I  may,  the 
truth  that  this  little  earth,  significant  as  indeed  it  is, — 
mere  speck  of  dust  in  the  wide  waste  of  shining  sands 
with  which  space  is  strewn — is  yet  the  focus  of  influences 
radiated  to  it  from  every  corner  of  the  universe,  even  from 
the  remotest  star. 

The  error  of  the  astrologer  was  not  in  his  notion  that 
the  heavenly  bodies  influence  human  affairs,  but  in  his 
notion  of  the  nature  of  those  influences,  in  supposing 
them  occult,  magical,  supernatural.  In  rational,  natural 
and  to  a  large  extent  discoverable  ways  they  do  influence 
us  daily.      Not  in  those  rare  cases  alone   when   sun   and 

284 


moon  stand  still  that  a  Joshua  may  complete  the  rout  of 
the  enemies  of  Jehovah,  or  a  star  in  the  East  guides  the 
wise  men  from  the  Chaldean  plains  to  the  cradle  of  the 
new-born  King,  are  these  shining  ones  made  the  minis- 
ters of  God's  Providence.  When  the  silent  sunbeams  in 
the  faces  of  one  of  two  contending  armies  defeat  the 
plans  of  a  skillful  leader,  when  the  pole  star's  steady  light 
guides  the  discoverer  on  his  way,  when  the  moon  brings 
in  her  wake  the  tide  that  floats  a  stranded  bark,  then  it 
is  that  the  stars  in  their  courses  become  executors  of  the 
purpose  of  God. 

Mark  you,  it  is  the  stars  in  their  courses  that  play 
thus  their  frequent  part  in  aiding  or  in  crossing  human 
plans,  not  miraculously  arrested  or  hastened  or  turned 
aside,  but  moving  steadily  forward  in  the  appointed  path 
which  from  their  creation  they  have  held  unswerving. 
Thus  not  the  stars  only  but  the  winds  and  seas  and  clouds, 
thus  all  nature  in  its  uniformity  acting  always  and  only 
in  conformity  to  its  unvarying  constitution  is  still  work- 
ing out  in  the  life  of  man  the  purposes  of  God. 

I  do  not  overlook  the  objection  to  all  this,  arising 
out  of  this  very  uniformity.  But  let  us  defer  the  con- 
sideration of  this  objection  till  we  have  considered  the 
unity  of  nature  in  another  aspect.  This  unity  is  a  unity 
in  tune  as  well  as  in  space.  In  other  words,  just  as  all 
worlds,  all  created  things,  are  bound  together  by  the 
forces  of  nature  into  one  whole,  so  all  events  that  have 
happened,  are  happenings  and  are  yet  to  happen,  are 
linked  by  the  law  of  cause  and  effect  into  a  single  chain, 
rather  let  us  say  into  a  network  of  cbains,  crossing  and 
recrossing,  uniting  and  dividing,  so  as  to  form  a  single 
web,  stretching  without  a  break  from  the  dawn  of  crea- 
tion to  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time.  The  events  of 
history  must  be  looked  at,  not  as  so  many  distinct  drops 
of  a  falling  shower,  but  as  the  drops  of  one  broad,  un- 

285 


broken  current  issuing  from  the  throne  of  God  and  merg- 
ing in  the  ocean  of  eternity. 

It  is  a  mistake  therefore,  to  regard  any  event,  or 
group  of  events,  as  standing  by  itself,  disconnected  from 
other  events  or  groups.  It  is  a  mistake  to  speak  of  one 
fact  as  the  cause  of  another  in  such  a  way  as  though  the 
latter  had  no  other  cause.  A  profound  theologian  has 
called  attention  to  this  error  in  these  words  :  "  The  talk 
so  often  heard  about  great  events  from  small  causes  is  a 
mere  play  of  fancy,  idle,  but  not  so  surely  harmless,  inas- 
much as  it  withdraws  the  attention  from  that  universal 
connection  of  things  in  which  the  cause  really  lies." 

The  practice  here  condemned  is  one  familiar  to  us 
all.  We  speak  thus,  proverbially,  of  "great  oaks  from 
little  acorns."  But  the  acorn  is  no  more  the  cause  of  the 
oak  than  is  the  foregoing  oak  of  which  the  acorn  itself  is 
a  product. 

Just  consider  what  an  acorn  is.  Consider  that  it 
took  an  oak  to  produce  it,  weeks  of  sunshine  and  rain  to 
mature  it,  that  earth  and  air  were  both  laid  under  contri- 
bution to  furnish  materials  for  it,  and  that  even  so  it 
cannot  produce  another  oak  without  the  aid  again  of 
earth  and  sun  and  dew  and  rain,  toiling  with  the  little 
germ  for  years.  Not  a  great  result  from  a  small  cause, 
but  one  small  part  of  the  result  of  the  unceasing  labor  of 
great  causes,  is  the  majestic  tree  which  we  admire.  And 
this  instance  from  the  natural  world  represents  fairly  the 
fact  regarding  human  affairs^  Then,  too,  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  speak  of  the  merest  trifles  as  effecting  the  most 
enormous  changes,  sometimes  even  as  changing  the 
whole  course  of  history.  But  the  trifles  in  question  are 
themselves  but  parts  of  the  result  of  previous  events — if 
you  please  of  the  whole  previous  course  of  history,  and 
again  these  trifles  would  not  have  the  effect  we  ascribe  to 
them  but  for  the  co-operation  of  a  great  many  conditions 

286 


which  are  just  as  truly  part  of  the  cause  as  that  to  which 
we  arbitrarily  apply  the  name,  since  to  change  any  one 
of  them  would  just  as  surely  change  the  effect.  We  can 
all  of  us  recall  instances,  if  not  of  our  own  experience, 
certainly  within  the  range  of  our  observation,  where  a 
very  little  thing,  the  merest  accident,  as  we  say,  an  un- 
expected encounter  with  a  friend  in  the  street,  the  sudden 
occurrence  of  some  text  of.  Scripture,  a  bit  of  paper  spied 
in  an  out  of  the  way  corner,  the  flight  of  a  bird,  the  fall- 
ing of  a  leaf,  the  picking  up  of  a  pin — has  seemed  to 
change  the  current  of  a  life.  But  none  of  these  things 
occurred  itself  as  it  did  without  a  cause,  without  a  net- 
work of  causes,  in  fact,  so  intricate  that  omniscience 
might  trace  it.  Nor  would  any  of  them  have  had  such 
effects,  happening  to  another  person  under  other  circum- 
stances. These  attendant  circumstances,  the  character 
and  state  of  mind  of  the  person,  and  the  foregoing  events, 
must  all  be  taken  together  before  we  fairly  arrive  at  the 
cause  of  the  events  which  seem  so  important. 

There  is  a  book  entitled  "The  Fifteen  decisive  Bat- 
tles of  the  World,"  wherein  are  described  fifteen  great 
battles,  by  which  the  destiny  of  nations  and  the  subse- 
quent course  of  human  history  seems  to  have  been 
changed.  Yet  a  writer  in  the  columns  of  some  news- 
paper a  few  years  ago  showed  clearly  enough  that  the 
battle  of  Bennington— a  mere  skirmish,  we  may  almost 
say,  between  a  British  foraging  party  and  a  handful  of 
Green  Mountain  Boys,  should  be  reckoned  as  a  sixteenth 
in  this  list,  since  it  decided  the  Battle  of  Yorktown. 
which,  as  virtually  decisive  of  American  Independence, 
is  reckoned  among  the  fifteen.  And  why  not  ?  In 
such  a  process,  where  are  we  to  stop?  Who  is  to  say 
what  have  been  and  what  have  not  been  decisive  battles? 
Rather,  was  there  ever  a  battle  fought  that  was  not  decis- 
ive, could  we  but  trace  with  the  eye  of  omniscience   all 

287 


the  effects  that  flowed  out  from  it  in  every  direction? 
There  is  absolutely  no  limit  to  the  illustrations  that 
might  be  given  of  this  subject;  but  enough  for  our  pur- 
pose.     Now  for  the  application. 

This  one  great  system  of  things,  this  universe  that 
has  been,  is,  and  shall  be,  a  vast,  enduring,  organic 
whole,  one  without  a  break,  this  is  God's  instrument. 
For  his  ends  it  was  made.  Its  ponderous  machinery 
moves  in  execution  of  his  plans.  In  this  system  man  is 
placed  with  the  power  of  choosing  his  own  ends.  If  he 
chooses  God's  ends  as  his  own,  he  has  all  this  vast 
machinery  on  his  side.  If  he  chooses  ends  that  clash 
with  God's,  he  has  it  all  against  him,  and  its  whole  mo- 
mentum must  be  overcome  before  he  can  succeed.  What 
a  railway  train  is  to  him  who  takas  his  place  in  it,  wish- 
ing to  go  just  where  it  is  going,  that  is  the  universe  to 
him  who  seeks  God's  ends.  What  the  same  train  mov- 
ing at  full  speed  would  be  to  him  who,  taking  his  stand 
in  front  of  it,  should  attempt  to  turn  it  about,  that  it 
might  carry  him  in  an  opposite  direction,  that  is  the  uni- 
verse to  him  who  seeks  ends  other  than  God's. 

For  since  nature  is  one  it  must  be  all  for,  or  all 
against.  Since  it  is  God's  it  must  be  all  for  his  friends 
and  against  his  enemies. 

And  now  with  this  oneness  of  nature  in  view  we  are 
prepared  to  notice  the  difficulty  before  referred  to,  viz. 
that  as  a  matter  of  fact  we  find  nature  in  helping  or  hin- 
dering man's  design  quite  indifferent  to  the  goodness  or 
badness  of  them, — that  the  friendly  veil  of  night  is  spread 
as  often  over  the  thief  as  over  the  refugee  ;  that  the  same 
unsetting  star  and  the  same  favoring  winds  that  guided 
the  Mayflower,  guided  also  the  slave-ship  to  our  new- 
world  coast ;  that  the  same  remorseless  flames  devoured 
Chicago's  churches  with  her  gambling  hells,  and  over- 
whelmed in  a  common  ruin   the  upright,  liberal  dealer 

38« 


and  the  grasping  knave  ;  that  whether  the  sun's  blinding 
rays  defeat  the  one  or  the  other  army  depends  not  at  all 
on  the  cause  at  issue  but  solely  on  the  time  of  day  and 
the  position  of  the  battalions.  This  is  all  true.  So,  long 
ago,  the  perplexed  philosopher  complained  that  "all 
things  come  alike  to  all,"  and  many  a  thoughtful  mind 
since  his  day  has  stumbled  at  that  stumbling-stone. 

But  the  solution  lies  in  that  very  view  of  nature  as 
one  whole  which  we  have  been  developing.  This  seem- 
ing confusion  arises  from  viewing  events  piece-meal,  dis- 
regarding their  relations  to  the  one  great  whole.  It  is  no 
part  of  God's  purpose  that  at  every  step,  in  every  in- 
stant, right  should  triumph  and  wrong  should  fail  ;  that 
every  good  deed  should  be  rewarded,  and  every  evil  deed 
punished  on  the  spot.  Christ  himself  declares  that  God 
makes  his  sun  to  rise  on  the  evil  and  on  the  good,  and 
sends  rain  on  the  just  and  on  the  unjust.  This  seeming 
injustice,  this  delay  of  justice— makes  up  a  part  of  our 
probation  here.  In  this  very  thing,  therefore,  nature  is 
but  God's  instrument.  And  when  this  ceases  to  be  his 
purpose,  when  in  his  wisdom  the  time  arrives  to  bring  to 
nought  evil  counsel,  he  knows  how  to  do  it,  and  to  do  it 
through  the  instrumentality  of  nature  without  the  slight- 
est interference  with  her  unvarying  laws. 

And  be  sure  that  time  is  coming. 

"Though  the  mills  of  God  grind  slowly 
Yet  they  grind  exceedingly  small. 
Though  with  patience  he  stands  waiting, 
With  exactness  grinds  he  all." 

But  if  still  it  is  said  that  God's  plans  develope  so 
slowly  that  meanwhile  there  is  a  chance  for  any  amount 
of  success  and  triumph  in  fighting  against  him, — if  it 
is  said  that  greedy  men  do  get  wealth,  ambitious  men 
power,  and  bad  men  of  every  sort  their  wicked  ends,  in 
defiance   of  God;  let  it  be  remembered  that   "the  tri- 

289 


umphing  of  the  wicked  is  short,"  and  that  inexorable 
nature,  if  she  does  not  triumph  over  them  before,  will 
very  soon  triumph  over  their  graves.  Thither  the  robber 
cannot  carry  his  gold.  There  the  usurper  cannot  wear 
his  crown. 

And  as  with  themselves,  so  with  the  works  they  leave 
behind  them.  These,  too,  must  all  wax  old  and  perish. 
The  same  inexorable  nature  will  not  rest  till  it  has  oblit- 
erated them  all.  Every  revolution  of  those  mighty 
wheels  unravels  a  thread  of  the  web  which  it  took  a  life- 
time to  weave.  And  this  is  real  defeat.  Consciously  or 
tacitly  all  men  build  for  eternity.  It  would  have  been 
small  gain  to  Sisera  to  have  won  his  battle  with  Israel 
with  the  certainty  that  the  next  day  or  the  next  year  he 
must  fight  it  over  again  and  lose  it.  Let  not  appearances 
deceive  you  then.  When  you  make  the  stars  in  their 
courses  do  your  bidding,  when  you  can  stop  the  earth  in 
her  career,  pluck  the  moon  from  the  sky,  and  quench 
the  light  of  the  sun,  then,  and  not  till  then,  may  you 
hope  to  win  enduring  victories  fighting  against  God. 

Is  this  what  you  are  doing  my  friend?  Oh,  then,  be- 
think you  how  near  at  hand  is  the  night  when  these 
revolving  stars  shall  look  down  upon  your  grave!  Cease 
building  breast-works  against  the  ocean  which  the  next 
tide  must  sweep  away,  and  set  your  life  in  harmony  with 
the  music  of  the  spheres.  Plant  it  so  in  the  line  of  God's 
purposes  that  you  may  triumph  over  nature  in  her  last 
triumph  over  man.  Cease  pulling  down  God's  building 
in  the  vain  hope  to  rear  with  the  stones  some  miserable 
monument  to  your  own  glory  which  the  mighty  torrent 
of  events  moving  in  the  eternal  channels  of  God's  pur- 
pose will  soon  sweep  away,  and  build  with  God,  that  so 
your  work  may  remain,  glorified  forever  in  that  fair  city 
which  shall  stand  unmoved  when  the  heavens  themselves 
shall  be  rolled  together  as  a  scroll. 

290 


But  if  this  theme  has  thus  its  warning,  it  has  also, 
for  the  friends  of  truth  and  right  its  mighty  inspiration. 
Deborah  and  Barak   and   the   people  of  the  Lord  who 
fought  with  them  sang  this  song  of  triumph  after  a  hard- 
fought   battle.      You   may  be  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  to- 
day, my  hearer,  and  to  you  it  may  seem  that  things  move 
very  slowly  and  that  Satan  wages  still  a  most  successful 
war.      Have  patience!     Wait!     The  stars  still  swing  on- 
ward in  their  courses,  the  great  wheels   of  the  universe 
are  ever  turning,  and  presently  the  hour  of  your  deliver- 
ance will   strike.      "It   is  good  for  a  man  to  both  hope 
and  quietly  wait  for  the  salvation  of  God."  What  though 
you  do  see  evil  triumphant  and  unchecked  in  the  walks  of 
trade,  in  the  pursuits  of  politics,  in  the  places  of  power? 
What  though  a  foe  assail  you  of  tenfold  Sisera's  prowess, 
and  with  ten  thousand  times    his   host,   and   though  the 
battle  has  lasted  long  and  you  are  tired  and  faint?     Yet 
wait  !     The  hour  is  at  hand  when  all  this  shall  be  re- 
versed !       And    when   the   fullness  of  the  time  is  come, 
when  the  favorable  conjunction  of   the  stars  take  place, 
when  the  right  point  is  reached  in  this  great  unfolding 
which   since   the   beginning  of  time  has  been  going  on, 
some  weak  woman,  it  may  be,  and  with  a  hammer  and  a 
nail  will  finish  the  work.     Behold  the  husbandman  wait- 
eth   for  the   precious   fruit  of  the  earth,  and  hath  long 
patience  for  it,  until  he  receive  the  early  and  latter  rain. 
Be  ye  also  patient ;  stablish  your  hearts  ;  for  the  coming 
of  the  Lord  draweth  nigh. 


291 


THE    ALLEGED    WASTE    OF    FOREIGN     MIS- 
SIONS. 

To  ivhat  furposc  is  this  zuaste? — Matt.  26:8. 

Comparing  John's  account  of  this  incident  with  that 
of  Matthew  it  is  plain  that  this  question  was  asked  by 
different  persons  for  different  reasons.  John  speaks 
only  of  Judas  as  the  fault-finder  and  tells  us  plainly 
what  his  motive  was.  "This  he  said  not  that  he  cared 
for  the  poor,  but  because  he  was  a  thief,  and  had  the 
bag,  and  bare  what  was  put  therein." 

Matthew  gives  to  understand  that  the  disciples  gen- 
erally chimed  in  with  the  murmur,  yet  certainly  they 
neither  shared  in  nor  suspected  its  real  inspiration. 
The  criticism  had  a  plausible  sound,  and  they  evidently 
caught  it  up  and  echoed  it  in  mere  thoughtlessness. 

It  did  seem  like  a  waste,  when  there  were  so 
many  hungry  and  naked  ones  whom  it  would  have 
clothed  and  fed,  to  make  this  lavish  expenditure  as  the 
mere  expression  of  a  love  which  might  have  been 
shown  in  some  less  costly  way.  Nevertheless,  Jesus 
himself  did  not  so  look  upon  it.  He  promptly  silenced 
both  classes  of  objectors  with  the  words:  "Why 
trouble  ye  the  woman?  for  she  had  wrought  a  good 
work  upon  me.  Let  her  alone.  She  had  done  what 
she  could." 

In  our  own  day  the  question  is  often  repeated  in 
circumstances  like  these.  "To  what  purpose  is  this 
waste,"  the  question  is  often  asked, even  by  sincere  follow. 
ers  of  Christ,  concerning  various  forms  of  self-sacrifice, 

292 


and  of  expenditure  of  life  and  treasure,  in  Christ's  name  — 
to  what  purpose  is  this  waste  when  the  same  expenditure 
might  have  been  made  to  do  so  much  more  good  in 
some  other  way.  Especially  is  it  said  of  the  expendi- 
ture of  life  and  treasure  in  the  work  of  foreign  missions, 
"to  what  purpose  is  this  waste"  when  there  are  so 
many  .poor  at  home  to  be  cared  for,  and  so  many 
heathen  at  home  to  be  brought  to  Christ?  When  a 
youthful  Bishop  Hannington,  on  the  threshold  of  the 
service  for  Africa  to  which  he  had  given  his  life,  falls 
a  victim  to  the  rage  of  jealous  savages,  instantly  the 
finger  of  criticism  is  pointed,  "  to  what  purpose  is  this 
waste"  when  the  same  zeal  expended  in  behalf  of 
England's  unchurched  masses  might  have  been  crowned 
with  years  of  fruitfulness. 

When  our  own  church  calls  for  a  million  of  dollars 
to  be  expended  in  carrying  out  her  marching  orders, 
"  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  Gospel  to 
every  creature,"  we  hear  it  again.  To  what  purpose,  — 
when  there  are  such  multitudes  still  unevangelized  in 
our  great  cities,  and  such  fields  yet  unoccupied  in  our 
own  newly  peopled  states. 

Now,  too,  as  of  old,  this  question  is  asked  by  differ- 
ent classes  of  objectors  for  different  reasons  and  in  a 
totally  different  spirit.  It  is  asked  by  many  from 
motives  as  sinister  as  those  of  Judas.  When  the  testi- 
mony of  travelers  and  residents  in  foreign  lands  to  the 
waste  and  failure  of  missions  is  glibly  quoted  as  conclu- 
sive, it  is  forgotten  how  far  from  disinterested  is  much 
of  this  testimony.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at. that  men 
of  immoral  life  who  rejoice  in  the  freedom  found  in  a 
heathen  community  to  indulge  passion  and  revel  in  vice, 
should  seek  to  discredit  the  missionary  who  does  more 
than  any  one  else  to  thwart  their  iniquity  and  expose 
their  vileness. 


293 


Half  a  century  ago  the  islands  of  the  Pacific  were  a 
paradise  of  lust  for  the  seamen  of  every  civilized  nation. 
Is  it  strange  that  when  the  missionaries  came  teaching 
chastity,  and  turning  those  abodes  of  unrestrained 
license  into  orderly,  God-fearing  communities,  they 
should,  by  such  men  be  pilloried  as  hypocrites,  their 
work  branded  as  a  failure,  and  the  money  expended  in 
it  jeered  at  as  a  waste? 

As  Richard  H.  Dana  said  after  a  visit  to  the  Sand- 
which  Islands,  in  which  he  did  his  best  to  arrive  at  the 
truth  in  regard  to  the  work  of  the  missionaries  :  "  The 
mere  seekers  of  pleasure,  power,  and  gain  do  not  like 
their  influence  ;  and  those  persons  who  sympathize  with 
that  officer  who  compelled  the  authorities  to  allow 
women  to  go  on  to  his  ship  by  opening  his  ports  and 
threatening  to  bombard  the  town,  naturally  are  hostile 
to  missions." 

To  a  young  man  who  was  expatiating  to  him  on  the 
inefficiency  of  missionaries  in  China,  Dr.  Ellinwood 
said:  "Whom  did  you  see  in  China  principally?" 
"Oh,  the  young  men  of  Shanghai  and  other  ports, 
clerks  in  warehouses,  and  others."  "  Do  you  not  think 
some  of  those  young  men  were  leading  lives  which 
threw  them  out  of  sympathy  with  missionary  opera- 
tions? Were  not  some  of  them  a  little  lax  in  their 
morals?"  "Some  of  them!  Every  one  of  them," 
was  the  quick  reply.  "I  do  not  know  of  any  excep- 
tion." "Well,  but  do  you  think  that  such  testimony  as 
theirs  is  quite  conclusive  in  regard  to  the  work  of 
missions?  " 

Some  years  since  a  noted  English  traveler  and 
author  stated  in  one  of  his  books  that  the  missionaries 
at  a  certain  African  station  had  accomplished  nothing 
and  that  their  station  was  useless.  Whereupon  the 
leading  missionary  at  the  station  referred  to,    wrote   in 

294 


reply  that  his  station  could  hardly  be  considered 
entirely  useless,  since  it  had  been  a  refuge  for  the  native 
women  from  the  drunken  attacks  of  the  traveling  com- 
panions of  this  very  critic.  Instances  need  not  be 
multiplied  to  prove  what  the  well-informed  have  long 
understood  that  much  of  the  testimony  to  the  ivaste 
of  missions  by  which  many  are  misled  would  be  found, 
if  sifted,  to  be  inspired  by  the  Judas  spirit. 

Then  again  this  criticism  is  often  prompted  by 
selfishness.  There  are  those  who  do  not  like  the  pres- 
sure upon  their  own  conscience  of  the  claims  of  the 
heathen  world,  and  so  they  are  ready  to  welcome  and 
accept  without  examination  any  alleged  evidence  of 
waste  which  may  justify  them  in  shirking  self-denial. 
There  is  still  much  professed  sympathy  for  the  poor, 
which  in  reality,  as  in  Judas'  case,  is  but  tenderness  for 
one's  own  purse.  When  I  hear  Christian  people  put 
aside  the  appeal  on  behalf  of  foreign  missions  with  the 
response:  "  I  do  not  believe  in  wasting  money  on  the 
heathen,  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  at  home," 
and  then  those  same  people,  (as  sometimes  happens, 
though  not  always)  dole  out  of  their  abundance  for  the 
cause  of  home  missions  an  insignificant  pittance,  one- 
tenth,  perhaps,  or  one  twentieth  of  what  they  would 
expend  to  build  a  new  club  house,  I  am  involuntarily 
reminded  of  the  words:  "  This  he  said   not  because   he 

cared   for  the  poor,   but  because  he  had  the  bag." 

But  while  this  cry  of  tuaste  is  often  originated  in  some 
such  sinister  or  selfish  motive,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
vast  majority  of  Christians  at  least,  who  take  it  up,  do 
so  in  mere  ignorance  and  thoughtlessness. 

The  first  two  classes  of  objectors,  the  malignant  and 
the  selfish,  it  is  of  little  use  to  try  to  convince;  but  the 
other  and  larger  class  need  only  to  have  the  case  fairly 
put  before  them  to  see  how  unjust  is  such  a  criticism. 

293 


To  do  this  as  it  should  be  done,  — to  tell  in  language 
worthy  of  the  theme  the  thrilling  story  of  heroism  and 
sacrifice,  of  patience  and  triumph,  under  equatorial  suns 
and  amid  poplar  snows,  on  fever  stricken  coasts  and  on 
cannibal  islands,  face  to  face  with  the  hoary  civiliza- 
tions of  Asia  and  with  the  naked  savagery  of  Borneo 
and  of  Pategonia,  —  would  demand  a  tongue  of  fire. 
Only  the  inspired  pen  which  recorded  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles  could  worthily  attempt  this  nineteenth  century 
continuation  of  the  same  stirring  story  of  the  cross. 

Yet  let  me  give  you,  as  best  I  may,  four  reasons  why 
this  work  of  foreign  missions  is  not  a  waste  either  of 
money  or  of  life. 

i.  And  the  first  is  the  same  with  which  the  Master 
Himself  silenced  this  ill-timed  cavil  of  the  disciples. 
"Why  trouble  ye  her?  She  hath  wrought  a  good  work 
upon  me."  That  alabaster  box  of  ointment,  very 
precious,  was  not  wasted,  because  it  was  poured  upon 
His  head,  as  the  expression  of  a  love  that  would  give 
Him  its  best.  Where  in  our  day  should  we  look  for 
the  highest  expression  of  this  same  supreme  love  to 
Christ,  if  not  in  the  treasure  poured  out,  in  the  lives 
devoted  to  this  work  of  making  Him  known  to  the 
world  for  which  He  died?  Other  causes  appeal  to  a 
variety  of  motives,  motives  of  self-interest,  of  patriot- 
ism, of  natural  compassion.  Even  the  irreligious,  out 
of  mere  humanity,  give  freely  to  build  hospitals  for  the 
sick  or  to  buy  coal  for  the  poor.  Even  the  skeptic  will 
give  toward  the  building  of  a  church  in  his  own  com- 
munity, as  a  safeguard  to  property  and  a  bulwark  of 
order.  But  here  is  a  work  which  appeals  to  one 
single  motive,  love  for  Him  who  gave  His  life  that  a 
lost  world  might  be  saved. 

If  one  were  asked  to  name  the  highest  expression  in 
this   our   day  of  that  love  to  Christ  which  is  willing  to 

29G 


lay  all  at  his  feet,  he  Would  instinctively  turn  to  the 
lives  of  those  devoted  men  and  women  who,  leaving 
home  and  native  land,  turning  their  backs  forever  upon 
the  delights  of  culture  and  the  allurements  of  ambition, 
have  gone  only  for  the  love  of  Christ  to  bury  themselves 
for  life  among  filthy  savages  or  sordid  Asiatics,  endur- 
ing the  daily  spectacle  of  their  physical  squalor  and 
their  moral  leprosy,  that  so  they  may  win  jewels  for  His 
crown.  In  such  lives  Christian  consecration  touches 
its  high-water  mark.  And  he-  to  whom  no  fragrance  is 
so  sweet  as  a  consecrated  life  does  not  count  the 
precious  ointment  wasted. 

When  Henry  Martyn  died  at  thirty  years  of  age 
alone  in  the  heart  of  a  heathen  land,  the  flaming 
soul  which  had  known  but  one  thought,  one  passion 
fairly  consuming  the  frail  tenement  in  which  it  was  con- 
fined, while  as  yet  scarce  one  convert  had  rewarded  his 
earnest  toil,  it  seemed  indeed  like  a  waste  of  precious 
ointment;  but  who  will  doubt  that  He  who  said  of  Mary 
as  the  highest  praise:  "  She  hath  done  what  she  could," 
has  written  over  against  that  devoted  life  the  same  satis- 
fying eulogy? 

2.  This  work  is  not  a  waste,  again,  because  of  the 
mighty  impulse  which  the  church  has  drawn  from  the 
examples  of  heroism  and  consecration  it  has  called  forth. 
"Wheresoever  this  gospel  shall  be  preached  in  the 
whole  world,  there  shall  also  this  that  this  woman  hath 
done  be  told  for  a  memorial  of  her."  Surely  that  was 
not  a  waste  which,  like  a  seed  dropped  into  the  ground, 
should  have  power  to  reproduce  in  other  lives  gener- 
ation after  generation  the  same  devotion  to  the  Master 
and  the  same  spirit  of  sacrifice.  But  is  this  not  also 
true  of  these  missionary  lives  and  offerings,  which  are 
mourned  over  as  so  sad  a  waste?  What  life  next  to 
that  of  Christ  has  done   most  to  impel  Christians  to  a 

297 


high  standard  of  fervor  and  sacrifice?  What  but  the 
life  of  Paul,  the  great  foreign  missionary  of  the  prim- 
itive church?  When  the  pure  soul  of  Harriet  Newell, 
dying,  a  young  bride  of  nineteen  on  a  foreign  isle,  ere 
she  had  so  much  as  set  foot  among  the  people  whom  she 
longed  to  tell  of  a  Saviour's  love,  left  its  frail  tabernacle 
and  exhaled  heavenward  like  the  perfume  from  the 
broken  box  of  alabaster,  even  devout  souls,  staggered 
by  the  mystery  of  God's  ways,  cried  out  in  their  per- 
plexity:   "To  what  purpose  is  this  waste?  " 

Yet  was  it  a  waste,  when  that  short  and  simple  story 
of  a  woman's  love  and  sacrifice  touched  the  heart  of  all 
England  and  America,  and  moved  hundreds  out  of 
lukewarmness  and  lethargy  to  be  up  and  doing  for  the 
Master?  When  whole  communities,  even,  are  revived 
and  churches  are  brought  into  being  as  the  result  of  the 
reading  of  that  simple  story?  Who  shall  say  that  the 
longest  life  of  service  among  the  heathen  would  have 
been  as  fruitful  of  results  as  was  that  early  death 
through  its  influence  upon  the  Christian-  Church? 

When  Theodore  Parker,  certainly  no  blindly  partial 
critic  of  evangelical  enterprise,  laid  down  the  life  of 
Adoniram  Judson  he  said,  and  justly,  that  if  the  mis- 
sionary enterprise  had  done  nothing  but  produce  that 
life,  all  its  costs  were  repaid.  But  Judson  does  not 
stand  alone.  This  work  has  produced  scores  of  other 
lives  as  noble,  as  inspiring  as  his.  With  equal  emphasis 
may  it  be  said  that  if  the  missionary  spirit  had  done 
nothing  for  this  nineteenth  century  but  to  illumine  it 
with  one  such  heroic  life  as  David  Livingstone's  it  would 
have  been  worth  all  its  cost.  But  what  a  galaxy  of 
heroes  and  heroines  has  this  enterprise  of  foreign  mis- 
sions given  the  church!  We  need  not  go  back  to  the 
early  centuries  for  our  saints  and  martyrs.  They  have 
lived  and  walked  with  us,  they  have  gone  forth  from  our 

298 


houses  and  our  churches,  men  and  women  of  whom  the 
world  was  not  worthy,  who  even  though  dead,  still 
"     *     *     *     speak  in  reason's  ear 
And  in  example  live." 
Yea,   and  will   live   to    rouse   the  careless,    to  convince 
the    doubting,    to    stimulate    the    half-hearted     till     the 
church's  last  battle  is  fought,  her  last  victory  won. 

What  Christian  has  ever  laid  down  the  life  of  Fidelia 
Fiske,  or  of  Dr.  Grant  of  Nestoria,  of  Dr.  Calhoun  of 
Syria,  of  Dr.  Morrison  of  China,  of  Carey  or  Duff  of 
India,  or  of  Bishop  Patteson  of  Melanesia,  without  a 
new  conception  of  the  grandeur  of  the  Christian  life 
and  a  new  impulse  to  more  thorough  consecration. 

3.  Once  more,  this  work  is  not  a  waste  because  of 
its  general  tip  lifting  and  civilizing  effects. 

The  critics  of  missions  have  one  standard  of 
measurement  by  which  they  assume  that  their  value  is 
alone  to  be  gauged,  the  statistics  of  conversions.  Are 
these  in  any  given  case  but  small;  the  question  is 
triumphantly  asked:  "To  what  purpose  is  this  waste?" 
But  the  standard  is  too  narrow,  granted  that  conver- 
sions are  the  result  at  which  this  whole  work  aims,  yet 
if  this  were  never  attained,  there  would  still  be,  in  the 
indirect  results  alone,  compensation  many  times  over 
for  their  cost.  We  have  already  seen  how  true  this  is 
of  their  effect  on  the  churches  at  home.  It  is  no  less 
true  of  their  effect  upon  heathen   communities   abroad. 

The  passengers  and  crew  of  a  California  vessel 
wrecked  among  the  Fiji  Islands,  when  daylight  came 
found  themselves  to  their  indescribable  horror  ashore 
upon  what  they  took  to  be  a  cannibal  island.  Knowing 
that  the)'  must  perish  if  they  remained  where  they  were, 
they  summoned  all  their  courage  to  face  an  unknown 
fate,  and  made  for  the  nearest  hut.  On  entering,  the 
chief  officer  saw  lying  on  a  board  a  dark  colored   object 

299 


that  fixed  his  attention.  It  was  neither  a  spear  nor  a 
club,  it  was  —  yes,  it  was  a  Bible.  Turning  to  his  com- 
rades: "We  are  safe,"  he  exclaimed.  "Where  that 
book  is  there  is  no  danger." 

And  so  it  proved.  The  influence  of  the  missionaries 
had  transformed  these  whilom  cannibals  into  hospitable 
friends,  who  showed  the  shipwrecked  crew  no  little 
kindness  and  sent  them  on  their  way  rejoicing.  Think 
you  that  crew  needed  to  enquire  for  statistics  of  church 
membership  before  deciding  whether  the  missionary 
money  expended  on  that  island  had  been  wasted? 

If  missions  in  the  Pacific  had  done  nothing  else 
than  make  savage  and  cannibal  islands  safe  for  the 
sailor  and  the  castaway,  —  and  that  they  have  done  in 
fifty  years  for  substantially  the  whole  of  Polynesia,  that 
alone  would  be  worth  all  their  cost. 

And  such  results  have  followed  in  the  track  of  the 
missionary  all  around  the  globe.  Do  you  ask  where  are 
the  witnesses?  They  are  at  hand,  a  great  cloud  of 
them,  men  who  can  speak  that  they  do  know  and  testify 
that  they  have  seen.  Shall  we  summon  a  few  of  them? 
We  will  call  no  missionary,  no  secretary,  no  minister, 
lest  their  testimony  should  be  suspected  of  bias.  We 
will  call  only  scholars,  travelers,  diplomats,  who  shall 
tell  us  what  they  know  of  the  influence  of  missionaries: 
Shall  we  call  scholars? 

Few  names  carry  greater  weight  for  candor  than  that 
of  Charles  Darwin.  In  his  voyage  around  the  world 
he  visited  Terra  del  Fuego  and  found  its  savages  "the 
lowest  of  the  human  race,"  scarce  one  degree  above  the 
brutes,  so  degraded,  indeed,  that  when  he  heard  that  a 
mission  was  to  be  attempted  among  them  he  pronounced 
it  a  hopeless  undertaking.  But  when  a  British  admiral 
told  him  of  what  he  had  seen  of  the  fruits  of  that  mis- 
sion, this  man  who  had  abandoned  all  his  faith  in  Christ 

300 


and  the  Bible  conceived  such  faith  in  missions  as  an 
elevating  power,  that  he  made  haste  to  enroll  himself  as 
a  subscriber  to  a  work  which  he  pronounced  next  to 
the  renaissance  of  Japan,  the  greatest  wonder  of  the 
century. 

From  the  other  side  of  the  globe  we  may  bring  his 
co-laborer  in  science,  Alfred  Russel  Wallace,  to  tell  us 
how  in  the  island  of  Celebes  the  missionaries  have 
changed  "a  wilderness"  of  "naked  savages  "  into  "a 
garden." 

Shall  we  summon  such  travelers  as  Henry  M.  Stan- 
ley and  Emin  Bey  to  tell  us  why  they  call  so  loudly  for 
missionaries  as  the  great  hope  of  Africa?  Shall  we  call 
government  officials  to  the  stand?  From  India  with  its 
hoary  and  inflexible  civilization  comes  Sir  Charles 
Aitchison,  governor  of  the  Punjab  to  tell  us  that  mis- 
sionary teaching  and  Christian  literature  are  leavening 
native  opinion  in  a  way  and  to  an  extent  quite  startling 
to  those  who  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  investigate,  and 
declares  that,  "  apart  altogether  from  the  strictly  Chris- 
tian aspect  of  the  question  "  he  would  as  an  administra- 
tor "deplore  the  drying  up  of  Christian  liberality  to 
missions  in  this  country  as  a  most  lamentable  check  to 
social  and  moral  progress,  and  a  grievious  injury  to  the 
best  interests  of  the  people." 

Sir  Barth  Frere,  late  governor  of  Bombay,  steps 
forward  to  declare  that  the  teaching  of  Christianity  is 
effecting  in  India  "changes  moral,  social,  and  political 
which,  for  extent  and  rapidity  of  effect,  are  far  more 
extraordinary  than  anything  witnessed  in  modern 
Europe,"  But  these  (and  they  are  representations  of  a 
great  number  in  like  position  to  judge)  are  Englishmen, 
and  themselves  Christians,  at  least  traditionally. 

Let  us  hear  a  Brahmin,  the  Hindoo  reformer  Chun- 
der  Sen  who,  while  deliberately  rejecting  Christianity  as 

301 


inferior  to  the  old  Vedic  Theism  which  he  seeks  to 
restore,  still  proclaims:  "It  is  not  the  British  army 
that  deserves  the  honor  of  holding  India.  If  any  army 
can  claim  that  honor,  it  is  the  army  of  Christian  mis- 
sionaries headed  by  their  invincible  captain  Jesus  Christ. " 

There  is  no  harder  mission  field,  none  where  direct 
results  have  been  more  tardy,  than  China. 

A  certain  Lieutenant  Wood  of  the  United  States 
Navy  after  studying  the  missions  there  from  the  deck  of 
a  man  of  war,  has  sent  broadcast  through  the  news- 
papers the  sad  intelligence  that  they  are  a  total  failure. 
We  may  leave  him,  however,  to  settle  matters  with  our 
minister  to  China,  Col.  Dinby,  who  says,  "the  tourist 
who  sneers  at  the  missionaries  or  fails  to  give  them  his 
unqualified  admiration  and  sympathy,  is,  if  earnest, 
simply  ignorant.  He  has  not  taken  the  trouble  to  go 
through  their  missions  as  I  have  done.  It  is  idle  for 
any  man  to  decry  the  missionaries  or  their  work.  I 
do  not  address  myself  to  the  churches,  but  as  a  man  of 
the  world  talking  to  sinners  like  myself,  I  say  that  it  is 
difficult  to  say  too  much  good  of  missionary  work  in 
China." 

But  time  fails  to  name  even  the  witnesses  of  like 
character  and  standing  who  might  be  summoned  from 
all  parts  of  the  globe.  I  add  the  testimony  of  but  one, 
General  Lew  Wallace,  ex-minister  to  Turkey,  who  from 
the  position  of  unbeliever  in  Christianity  was  brought  by 
the  examination  of  the  New  Testament  to  that  attitude 
of  mind  which  reveals  itself  in  Ben-Hur  and  who,  from 
a  like  unbelief  in  the  work  of  missions,  was  won  over  in 
a  similar  way,  and  confessed  on  his  return  that  though 
he  went  to  Turkey  prejudiced  against  the  missionaries, 
he  had  found  them  an  admirable  body  of  men  doing  a 
wonderful  educational  and  civilizing  work  outside  of 
that  which  was  strictly  religious. 

302 


4-  But  finally  ami  above  all,  this  work  is  not  a 
waste  because  of  its  direct  and  eternal  results,  in  souls 
turned  from  darkness  to  light  and  from  the  power  of 
Satan  unto  God. 

Is  it  a  waste  of  life  and  treasure  that  has  given  us  in 
India  one  hundred  thousand  native  communicants, 
thirty-five  thousand  in  China,  some  thirty  thousand  in 
Japan,  one  hundred  thousand  in  Polynesia,  a  million  in 
the  heathen  worlds;  to  say  nothing  of  those  already 
gone,  some  of  them  from  the  dungeon  and  the  martyr- 
flame,  to  join  the  great  multitude  whom  no  man  can 
number  before  the  throne  of  God  and  the  Lamb? 

Is  it  waste  which,  according  to  the  showing  of  the 
government  census  of  India,  multiplies  the  native 
Christians  by  6y%  while  adherents  of  other  religions  are 
increasing  from  10%  to  13%?  It  looked  like  waste  in 
China  while  Morrison  was  waiting  for  seven  years  for 
his  first  convert;  but  it  did  not  look  like  waste  to  our 
missionaries  when  they  found  that  during  the  last 
decade  the  increase  in  all  the  Protestant  missions  had 
been  almost  one  and  one  half  fold  or  140%.  It  may 
have  seemed  like  waste  to  the  Moravian  missionaries  in 
Greenland  during  the  fifteen  years  that  they  labored 
without  one  convert  but  it  does  not  seem  so  now  to 
those  who  find  not  a  single  avowed  pagan  in  the  district 
covered  by  their  labors.  It  seemed  also  like  waste  for  a 
time  to  the  Baptists  of  the  Lone  Star  Mission  in  India 
as  years  of  labor  passed  by  with  almost  no  visible  result, 
that  they  were  almost  ready  to  withdraw  from  the  field 
in  despair;  but  when  in  1878  ten  thousand  converts  were 
baptized  in  three  months  there  was  no  more  thought  of 
waste  then. 

Judson,  as  he  sat  by  the  wayside  waiting  wearily  day 
after  day  for  even  a  listener,  must  often  have  been 
tempted  to  ask  of  his  own   life   "To   what  purpose   is 

303 


this  waste?  "  had  not  his  been  the  mighty  faith  which  to 
the  question,  "What  are  the  prospects  of  success?" 
could  answer  "As  bright  as  the  promises  of  Almighty 
God."  But  even  Satan  can  hardly  have  tempted  him  to 
ask  such  a  question  after  he  had  been  permitted  to 
welcome  two  hundred  in  one  year  to  the  church  of 
Christ. 

Foreign  missions  a  waste!  Then  was  the  blood  shed 
on  Calvary  wasted.  Then  were  the  labors  of  the  apos 
ties  wasted,  then  were  the  lives  of  the  martyrs  wasted, 
then  was  it  waste  when  Latimer  and  Ridley  lighted 
with  their  flaming  bodies  England's  candle  which  has 
never  been  put  out,  then  is  all  sacrifice  for  Christ  and 
all  toil  for  souls  a  waste,  the  gospel  itself  a  fable,  and 
heaven  a  dream. 

But  if  at  God's  right  hand  there  sits  a  Christ  to 
whom  the  Father  has  promised  the  heathen  for  his 
inheritance  and  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth  for  his 
possession,  and  who  will  accept  and  crown  every  deed 
of  love  and  every  sacrifice  laid  at  His  feet  as  He 
accepted  and  crowned  this  deed  of  a  loving  woman  of 
Bethany  there  is  then  no  work  on  earth  which  holds  the 
promise  of  larger,  more  glorious,  or  more  imperishable 
returns! 


301 


WHAT  SHALL  WE  DO  ? 

Now  when  they  heard  this  they  were  pricked  in  their 
heart  and  said  unto  Peter  and  to  the  rest  of  the  apostles : 
Men  and  brethren,  what  shall  we  do?  Then  Peter  said 
unto  them:  Repent  and  be  baptized  every  one  of  you  in  the 
name  of  Jesus  Christ  for  the  remission  of  sins. — Acts  2:37-8. 

The  day  of  Pentecost  was  a  day  of  wonders.  It  was 
a  day  of  power, — the  manifested  power  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  But  of  all  the  manifestations  of  that  power  which 
was  the  mightiest?  Was  it  the  mighty  rushing  wind? 
Was  it  the  flames  of  fire  resting  on  the  heads  of  the  dis- 
ciples? Was  it  the  new  tongues  in  which  these  unlearned 
men  were  heard  to  speak?  No  :  far  beyond  either  of 
these  was  that  which  is  here  recorded.  "Now  when  they 
heard  this  they  were  pricked  in  their  heart."  "And  the 
same  day  there  were  added  about  three  thousand  souls." 
The  wind  and  the  fire  were  phenomena  of  matter,  the 
tongues  a  phenomenon  of  mind,  but  here  was  a  moral 
miracle,  an  exhibition  of  divine  power  over  the  spiritual 
creation. 

It  is  the  tendency  of  our  minds  to  wonder  at  the  out- 
ward and  spectacular  rather  than  at  the  inward  and 
spiritual.  As  in  our  Saviour's  life-time  the  multitudes 
wondered  far  more  at  the  multiplication  of  the  loaves  in 
his  hand  than  at  the  gracious  words  which  proceeded  out 
of  his  mouth  or  at  the  sinless  life  he  led,  so  still  we  are 
prone  to  appeal  to  his  miracles,  rather  than  to  his  life 
and  teachings  in  proof  of  his  divinity  ;  and  yet  it  is  in 
the  teachings  and  the  life  far  more  than  in  the  miracles 
that  the  full  splendor  of  the  Godhead  is  revealed.     So, 

3QS 


too,  the  Ten  Commandments  given  to  Moses  upon  Sinai 
at  the  first  glance  excite  our  wonder  far  less  than  the 
spectacle  of  the  mount  itself  quaking  and  smoking  and 
thundering,  amidst  which  they  were  given.  Yet  it  is  in 
that  law  itself  infinitely  more  than  in  any  of  these  mar- 
velous accompaniments  of  its  delivery  that  we  see  the 
proof  that  Moses  had  indeed  talked  with  God,  and  that 
he  spake  by  a  divine  authority.  One  can  hardly  fail  to 
be  reminded  in  this  succession  of  phenomena,  the  mighty 
wind,  the  fire,  the  outward  miracle  of  the  tongues,  fol- 
lowed by  the  inward  prick  of  compunction  in  so  many 
hard  hearts,  of  that  impressive  lesson,  so  like  in  the  pro- 
gress of  its  events, — the  earth-quake,  and  after  the  earth- 
quake a  whirlwind,  and  after  the  whirlwind  a  fire,  and 
after  the  fire  a  still,  small  voice, — in  which  Elijah  was 
taught  the  same  great  truth,  that  God  is  seen  more  in  his 
secret  workings  than  in  spectacular  displays;  more  in  the 
voice  with  which  he  speaks  inwardly  to  the  heart  of  man 
than  in  the  mightiest  convulsions  of  nature  or  the  most 
overwhelming  judgments  upon  nations. 

What  is  it  to  teach  the  unlearned  to  utter  his  thoughts 
in  a  strange  language  compared  with  teaching  a  hardened 
sinner  to  see  himself  in  a  new  light,  to  feel  toward  God  a 
new  affection,  and  to  shape  his  life  by  a  new  purpose. 
"  Behold  he  prayeth  "  was  a  more  wonderful  thing  to  say 
of  the  fierce  persecutor  than  if  it  had  been  said  that  he 
spake  with  all  the  tongues  under  heaven.  The  piercing 
of  a  hard  heart  is  the  greatest  miracle  God  ever  works. 

And  consider  how  hard  were  these  hearts, — how 
against  all  human  probability  it  was  that  they  should  be 
pricked  with  anything  like  compunction  under  this  ser- 
mon of  Peter's 

Remember  this  was  in  Jerusalem.  These  are  in  part 
the  very  men  who  had  often  listened  to  wonderous  words 
of  Jesus  himself  in  their  temple  and  in  the  streets  of  their 

3U6 


city.  Some  of  them  had  seen  his  miracles.  They  had 
heard  of  what  had  happened  at  Bethany  within  the  last 
few  months,  how  he  had  there  raised  to  life  one  who  had 
lain  four  days  in  the  grave.  Some  of  them  had  joined  in 
the  cry  :  "Crucify  him  !  crucify  him  !  "  of  that  tumultu- 
ous throng  before  Pilate's  judgment  seat,  and  had  gazed 
upon  the  cross,  had  felt  the  earth-quake,  had  stood 
under  the  shadow  of  the  darkness,  had  smitten  their 
breasts  and  returned,  awed  but  still  unconvinced.  Surely 
hearts  that  had  resisted  such  influences  as  these,  must 
have  become  hard  indeed.  And  accordingly  we  find  them 
running  together  out  of  mere  curiosity  at  this  new  sight, 
and  some  of  them  like  the  mockers  who  in  our  day  gather 
to  make  fun  wherever  the  Holy  Spirit's  presence  is 
specially  manifested, — with  irreverent  sneer,  attributing 
his  work  to  the  effects  of  new  wine. 

Shall  we  expect  such  hearts,  hearts  which  had  suc- 
cessfully hardened  themselves  against  the  life  and  the 
words  of  the  divine  Master  himself,  to  be  penetrated  by 
the  preaching  of  his  unlettered  disciple?  Yet  behold 
these  men  now,  pricked  in  their  hearts, — their  contempt 
all  gone,  their  indifference  all  gone,  their  scepticism 
about  the  claims  of  Jesus  to  be  their  Messiah  all  gone, 
turning  to  his  disciples  with  the  intensely  earnest  ques- 
tion :  "Men  and  brethren,  what  shall  we  do?"  What 
but  the  almighty  power  of  God  could  have  wrought  such 
a  change?  The  ax  does  not  cleave  the  tree  without  an 
arm  to  wield  it.  Peter's  sermon  could  never  have  so 
cleft  these  hard  hearts  had  it  not  been  applied  by  the 
Holy  Ghost. 

But  let  us  attend  more  closely  to  the  nature  of  this 
effect.  "They  were  pricked  in  their  heart."  Their  com- 
fort was  gone.  Their  peace  of  mind  was  gone.  Insensibil- 
ity had  given  place  to  uneasiness,  to  anxiety,  to  alarm. 
Their  question,  "What  shall  we  do?  "  is  the  expression 

m 


at  once  of  conscious  guilt  and  of  conscious  danger.  As 
one  who  in  a  transport  of  rage  has  murdered  a  fellow- 
being,  awaking  suddenly  to  a  sense  of  what  he  has  done, 
cries  out  with  a  thought  at  once  of  the  mischief  which  he 
cannot  undo,  and  of  the  penalty  which  he  cannot 
escape  :  "Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  what  shall  f  do?"  so 
these  men  were  pricked  in  their  heart,  they  felt  "com- 
punction ", — that  is  the  exact  force  of  the  Greek  word, — - 
as  Peter's  words  brought  home  to  them  what  they  had 
done.  And  what  was  it  that  his  words  thus  brought  home 
to  them  ?  One  sin  alone.  He  had  not  sought  to  convict  them 
of  theft,  of  blasphemy,  of  idolatry,  of  licentiousness,  of 
any  sin  but  this  that  they  had  spurned  their  Messiah 
and  crucified  their  Lord.  This  was  what  they  now  per- 
ceived. The  pain  of  self-reproach  for  this  was  what  they 
now  felt.  Blessed,  hopeful  pain!  When,  by  diligent 
chafing  and  cautious  warming,  sensibility  has  been  re- 
stored to  a  frozen  limb,  you  cry  out  with  pain  when  no 
pain  was  felt  before.  Yet  you  rejoice  in  that  pain  as  a 
promise  of  returning  life.  So  there  is  hope  for  any  man 
so  soon  as  he  is  pricked  in  his  heart  for  refusing  his 
Saviour  and  resisting  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Would  to  God  my  impenitent  friends,  that  Chris- 
tians about  you  could  see  you  pricked  in  the  heart. 
Would  to  God  that  my  words  might  be  made  effectual  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  the  awakening  in  you  of  compunction 
for  just  this  sin.  I  doubt  not  a  thoroughly  aroused  con- 
science would  convict  you  of  various  sins,  some  of  you 
of  sins  against  purity,  some  of  you  of  sins  against  truth, 
some  of  you  of  sins  against  the  law  of  love  to  your  neigh- 
bors. But  there  is  one  sin  greater  than  any  of  these  of 
which  I  know  that  it  would  convict  you  all.  It  is  the  sin 
of  rejecting  a  Saviour,  of  despising  his  love,  of  harden- 
ing your  hearts  against  the  calls  of  his  spirit.  Could  we 
see  you  pricked  in  your  heart  for  this  sin,  oh  how  should 


we  rejoice, — not  at  your  pain  ;  but  at  the  hope  it  would 
give  that  the  hard  heart  might  be  softened  and  the  lost 
soul  saved. 

Still  it  would  be  only  a  hope.  Many  a  soul  feels  the 
prickings  of  compunction  for  its  treatment  of  its  Saviour, 
yet  stifles  them  again  and  so  becomes  more  hardened 
than  before.  Therefore  I  ask  you  to  note  it  again  as  a 
still  more  hopeful  feature  in  the  case  of  these  men  that 
they  asked  just  this  question:  "What  shall  we  do?" 
They  could  have  asked  no  question  more  to  the  point 
than  this.  They  saw  that  this  was  a  case  that  called  for 
action.  They  were  in  a  state  of  guilt, — something  must 
be  done  about  that  ;— in  a  state  of  danger, — something 
must  be  done  about  that.  Theirs  was  no  case  for  idle 
waiting,  no  case  for  theological  hair-splitting.  It  was  a 
case  for  action, — prompt,  energetic  action. 

My  friends,  it  may  be  there  are  some  of  you  who  al- 
ready feel  compunction  for  your  neglect  of  the  gospel  and 
ingratitude  for  a  Saviour's  love,  but  you  are  doing  noth- 
ing about  it.  You  are  just  waiting  for  things  to  take 
their  own  course.  You  keep  your  feelings  to  yourself 
and  meanwhile  go  right  on  as  before.  I  forewarn  you 
that  compunction  so  treated  will  not  last  long.  It  will 
soon  give  place  to  a  state  of  things  worse  than  before. 

Satan  does  not  care  how  many  sermons  you  hear, 
how  many  tracts  you  read,  how  much  you  think  about 
religion,  how  much  emotion  you  feel,  if  only  he  can  be 
sure  that  you  won't  do  anything.  In  that  case  all  these 
things  will  but  help  to  rivet  his  chains  by  making  your 
heart  harder  and  more  insensible. 

"Nothing  either  great  or  small 
Remains  for  me  to  do," 

is  true  as  it  was  written  and  meant,  but  not  true  as  it  is 
sometimes  quoted  and  sung.  It  is  true  that  we  have 
nothing  either  great  or  small  to  do  toward  atoning   for 

309 


sin,  but  it  is  not  true  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  towards 
turning  from  sin,  it  is  not  true  that  we  have  nothing  to 
do  toward  fleeing  from  the  wrath  to  come.  "  Nothing  to 
do,"  thought  the  antediluvians  when  Noah  warned  them 
of  the  coming  deluge,  till  at  length  the  flood  came  and 
destroyed  them  all.  "Nothing  to  do,"  thought  Lot's 
sons-in-law  when  Lot  warned  them  that  God  would  de- 
stroy their  city,  till  the  fire  and  brimstone  fell  and  they 
perished  in  the  flames. 

But  the  awakened  jailer  at  Philippi  thought  other- 
wise when  he  fell  down  trembling  before  Paul  and  Silas 
crying:  "Sirs  !  what  must  I  do  to  be  saved?"  The 
awakened  Saul  of  Tarsus  himself  thought  otherwise, 
when,  startled  to  find  against  whom  he  had  been  fight- 
ing, he  cried  :    "  Lord  what  wilt  thou  have  me  do?" 

And  Jesus  taught  otherwise  when  he  said  :  "Strive 
to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate ;  for  strait  is  the  gate  and 
narrow  is  the  way  that  leadcth  unto  life,  and  few  there 
be  that  find  it. " 

I  spoke  to  you  last  week,  my  friends,  of  the  thing 
that  God  exhorts  you  not  to  do.  "Harden  not  your 
hearts."  I  tried  to  show  you  something  of  the  fearful 
responsibility  and  peril  of  such  a  self-hardening.  But 
you  remember  I  pointed  out  to  you  that  so  long  as  you 
simply  do  nothing  that  process  goes  on.  You  delude  your- 
self wofully  if  you  think  that  while  you  are  doing  nothing 
things  will  stay  where  they  are. 

A  little  swelling  has  made  its  appearance  on  your 
face.  You  heed  it  not  at  first  ;  but  it  increases,  and  at 
length  you  decide  to  show  it  to  the  physician.  He  ex- 
amines it,  shakes  his  head,  and  advises  you  to  have  it 
removed.  You  reply:  "Oh,  no;  I  don't  think  I'll  do 
anything  about  it.  I  only  want  your  opinion  as  to  what 
it  might  be."  Seeing  that  you  are  not  sufficiently  awake 
to  your  danger  he  tells  you  plainly  that  it  is  a  cancer,  and 

310 


that  if  it  extends  beyond  a  certain  point  it  will  be  certain 
death.  You  are  greatly  agitated,  and  see  the  gravity  of 
the  situation,  but  you  cannot  make  up  your  mind  to  the 
painful  operation,  so  you  decide  to  let  it  go,  to  do  noth- 
ing about  it  at  least  for  the  present.  Think  you  that  while 
you  do  nothing  that  fatal  growth  will  stop?  Think  you 
that  if  you  simply  let  it  go,  it  will  heal  itself?  Never! 
While  you  do  nothing  that  enemy  will  eat  your  life  away. 
In  prompt  action  lies  your  only  hope.  Oh,  my  friend, 
that  is  after  all  but  a  faint  emblem  of  the  fatal  processes 
going  on  in  your  soul  while  you  do  nothing,  processes 
which  no  anxiety,  no  compunction,  nothing  but  right  ac- 
tion will  arrest.  Do  you  see  that  you  are  in  the  wrong, — 
that  you  are  in  danger?  Lose  no  time,  then,  in  asking 
this  question  :    "  What  shall  I  do  "? 

But  of  whom  shall  you  ask  it?  This  leads  us  to  take 
note  of  another  hopeful  feature  in  the  case  of  these  men. 
They  went  to  the  right  place  to  push  their  inquiry.  They 
addressed  themselves  to  "Peter  and  the  rest  of  the 
Apostles." 

Why  did  they  not  undertake  to  prescribe  for  their 
own  case,  to  decide  for  themselves  what  was  the  best  course 
to  pursue?  Or  why  did  they  not  go  away  to  their  old 
teachers,  the  chief  priests,  the  scribes,  the  doctors  of  the 
law?  Ah,  they  had  a  good  reason  for  doing  neither  of 
these.  They  realized  at  least  that  they  had  been  impli- 
cated in  the  guilt  of  crucifying  one  who  was  their  Mes- 
siah, and  who  would  come  to  be  their  Judge.  And  they 
saw  that  he  alone,  who  was  at  once  their  accuser  and  their 
judge,  was  to  be  trusted  to  tell  them  what  to  do.  The 
way  that  he  pointed  out,  and  that  alone,  they  would  be 
safe  in  taking.  And  therefore  they  applied  to  his  ac- 
credited representatives,  to  the  men  who  had  been  with 
him  as  his  disciples,  and  who  stood  now  as  his  apostles, 
or  ambassadors,  to  tell  them  from  him,  what  they 
must  do.  311 


Was  not  this  the  part  of  common  sense?  But,  alas,  how 
many  an  awakened  sinner  fails  here  !  He  has  sinned 
against  God,  yet  he  will  not  let  God  tell  him  what  to  do. 
He  has  rejected  Christ,  yet  will  not  take  Christ's  way  to 
be  reconciled.  He  has  grieved  the  Holy  Spirit,  yet  he 
will  not  listen  to  the  Holy  Spirit's  voice  telling  him  how 
he  may  obtain  his  blessing. 

Some  think  they  can  answer  this  question  for  them- 
selves. "  My  own  reason,"  they  say,  "is  guide  enough. 
That  will  tell  me  what  to  do."  Some  resort  to  this  and 
that  human  authority  for  advice  and  obtain  advice 
as  various  as  the  authorities  to  whom  they  apply.  But 
God's  answer  is  the  only  safe  answer,  and  that  is  given 
in  his  word.  Is  there  one  here  pricked  in  his  heart,  and 
thoroughly  roused  to  the  fact  that  something  must  be 
done  to  escape  from  the  wrath  to  come?  My  friend, 
trust  the  Bible  alone  to  tell  you  what  to  do.  Go  to 
Christ's  ministers,  go  to  Christian  friends,  if  you  will. 
They  have  traveled  the  road  themselves  and  it  is  to  be 
presumed  they  can  give  you  wise  direction.  But  trust  it 
not  even  at  their  lips  unless  you  see  that  it  is  grounded 
on  the  word  of  God.  See  that  you  have  a  "  Thus  saith 
the  Lord,"  for  every  step.  For  just  so  surely  as  only 
God's  instructions  could  guide  Lot  to  a  place  of  safety 
from  the  fiery  rain  that  was  about  to  descend  upon  the 
cities  of  the  plain,  just  so  surely  can  these  alone  guide 
any  sinner  to  a  place  of  safety  from  the  judgment  that  is 
yet  to  come  upon  the  world  of  the  ungodly. 

Many  an  awakened  soul  has  been  fatally  misled  by 
trusting  to  well  meant  but  mistaken  and  unscriptural  ad- 
vice of  some  sincere  Christian  friend. 

You  see  too,  my  friends,  that  though  this  question 
was  put  to  all  the  eleven  apostles,  there  seems  to  have 
been  no  disagreement  about  the  answer.  The  reply  of 
Peter  spoke  the  sentiment  of  all.      Eleven  men  but  only 

312 


One  mind.  So  you  will  find  it  in  the  word  of  God.  God 
spake  by  many  messengers,  but  he  gave  but  one  gospel. 
The  Bible  is  made  up  of  many  books,  but  they  all  give 
but  one  answer  to  the  question  :  "  What  shall  we  do?  " 
More  rudimentary  indeed  in  the  earlier  and  incom- 
plete stages  of  religious  development,  and  endlessly 
varied  in  form  according  to  the  needs  of  the  particular 
individual  who  asks  the  question,  that  answer  in  its  com- 
pleted gospel-form  never  varies  in  substance  from  the  one 
here  given.  I  pray  you  mark  it  well,  inquiring  soul,  for 
it  tells  you  exactly  what  you  must  do. 

"  Repent  and  be   baptized,  every  one  of  you,  in  the 
name  of  Jesus   Christ,   for  the  remission  of  sins."     Re- 
pent!    At  this  very  first  word  occurs  an  instance  of  the 
danger  of  trusting  to  any  guidance  but  that  of  God's  own 
word.      Open  a  Roman  Catholic  Bible  and  you  will  read 
there   "Do   penance."      This   is    Rome's    perversion    of 
God's  way.      But  you   may   say  :   The  Roman   Catholic 
Bible  is  a  translation,  and  yours  is  a  translation.      How 
am   I   to  know  that  theirs  is  not  true.      My  friend,  you 
may  know  it  almost  as  certainly  if  you  do  not  read  Greek 
as  if  you  do.      You  may  learn  what  Peter  meant  by  see- 
ing what  these  men  did.      Do  you  read  of   any  penance 
here,    any    scourgings,    any    vigils,    any    mortifications? 
None.      "Then  they  that  gladly  received  the  word  were 
baptized,  and  the  same  day  there  were  added  unto  them 
about  three  thousand  souls."     When  a  German  emperor 
insulted  Pope  Hildebrand,  the  so-called  successor  of  St. 
Peter,  the  would-be  vicar  of  Christ,  he  was  compelled  to 
stand  for  three  days,  barefoot  and  clad  in  hair  cloth,  in 
the  cold  of  midwinter  in  an  outer  court  of  the  castle  at 
Canossa,  ere  he  could  receive  absolution.      But  here  are 
men  whom  Peter  himself  has  just  charged  with  complic- 
ity in  the  crucifixion  of  Christ,  offered  an  instant  pardon, 
baptized  and  taken  into  the  full  fellowship  of  the  church 

313 


in  one  day,  with  no  hint  of  penances  of   any  kind.      Not 

only  so,  but  look  all  through  the  New  Testament  and 
you  will  find  not  one  trace  of  such  performances  from 
beginning  to  end.  Of  repentance  you  will  find  enough, 
of  penance  nothing.  Rome,  after  diligent  search  through 
the  Protestant  Bible  of  King  James,  has  detected  some 
half  dozen  errors  of  translation  to  which  she  triumph- 
antly points  as  exhibiting  a  doctrinal  bias  which  dis- 
credits the  whole  work.  Yet  not  one  of  these  is  an  error 
half  so  vital,  or  so  monstrous,  as  this  which,  for  the  sake 
of  bolstering  up  an  evil  practice,  received  by  tradition 
from  a  corrupt  age  of  the  church  renders  by  such  a  word 
as  "  Do  penance  "  a  word  which  every  Greek  scholar 
sees  for  himself  to  mean  "change  your  minds."  But  if 
Peter  did  not  bid  these  inquirers,  "Do  penance" 
neither  did  his  answer  mean  "Feel  sorrow."  They  felt 
that  already.  They  were  already  pricked  in  their  heart. 
That  was  sorrow.  And  out  of  that  deep  sorrow  of  com- 
punction they  had  asked  :  "  Men  and  brethren  what  shall 
we  do?  "  It  was  to  some  new  step  Peter  directed  them, — - 
something  to  which  this  sorrow  and  sense  of  guilt  must 
lead  them,  but  which  was  more  than  these.  That  some- 
thing was  repentance,  literally  a  change  of  mind — i.  e. , 
not  a  change  of  views  or  a  change  of  feelings,  though  it 
includes  both  these  ;  but  precisely  what  we  mean  when 
we  say:  "I  planned  to  go  on  such  a  journey,  but  I 
changed  my  mind,"  viz.,  a  change  of  purpose.  They  had 
rejected  Jesus  as  their  Messiah.  When  Peter  said 
"  Repent  !  "  he  bade  them  reject  him  no  longer,  but  ac- 
cept him,  and  bow  to  him  as  their  Saviour  and  their 
Lord.  "  Repent"  in  the  Bible  is  a  word  of  action.  It 
rests  on  feeling  ;  it  presupposes  the  sense  of  sin  and 
sorrow  for  sin  as  the  motive  to  action,  but  he  who  stops 
with  sorrow  and  turns  not  from  sin  stops  short  of  repent- 
ance.   John  the  Baptist  came  preaching  repentance,  and 

314 


when  the  people  asked  him  what  he  meant  he  told  them 
very  plainly,  and  it  was  neither  to  do  penances  nor  to  feel 
sorry;  but  to  the  publicans  it  was:  "Exact  no  more 
than  that  which  is  appointed  you  ;  "  to  the  soldiers  :  "  Do 
violence  to  no  man,  neither  accuse  any  falsely,  and  be 
content  with  your  wages  ; "  to  all  the  people  :  "He  that 
hath  two  coats,  let  him  impart  to  him  that  hath  none, 
and  he  that  hath  meat  let  him  do  likewise." 

My  friend,  you  have  been  resisting  God's  Holy 
Spirit.  Repent,  by  yielding  to  his  influence  and  doing 
whatever  he  prompts  you  to  do.  You  have  been  reject- 
ing Christ.  Repent  by  accepting  him  as  your  Saviour, 
your  Sovereign,  your  all. 

There  is  an  Old  Testament  precept  which  expresses 
the  exact  nature  of  that  which  is  here  required.  You 
will  find  it  in  Is.  i :  16-17.  "  Cease  to  do  evil;  learn  to  do 
well."  But  repentance  will  not  make  amends  for  past  sin. 
It  was  a  startling  discovery  to  those  Jews  to  realize  that 
they  had  crucified  the  Lord  of  Glory.  No  repentance 
could  undo  this  deed.  And  therefore  they  needed,  to 
withdraw  the  iron  that  was  rankling  in  their  souls, 
another  word  beside  this  word  Repent.  And  it  was 
given.  ft  Be  baptized  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  for  the 
remission  of  sins."  To  be  baptized  in  the  name  of  Jesus 
Christ  was  an  act  of  faith  in  Christ.  It  was  a  personal 
acceptance  of  him  as  their  Lord.  To  be  baptized  for  the 
remission  of  sins  was  still  more  specifically  an  act  of 
faith  in  his  atonement,  an  appropriation  to  themselves  of 
the  benefits  of  the  sacrifices  of  that  "  Lamb  of  God  that 
taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world." 

But  this  was  not  all  that  the  apostles  bade  these 
convicted  sinners  do.  Here  again  I  ask  you  to  notice 
the  contrast  between  the  inspired  prescription  for  the 
healing  of  troubled  consciences  and  many  of  the  prescrip- 
tions of  men.       "Repent,"    says  the    rationalist,     "and 

315 


that  is  enough.      God    is  bound  to   forgive   upon  repent- 
ance."    Not  so  say  the  apostles  of  Christ. 

The  deed  is  done.  Repentance  will  not  undo  it. 
The  guilt  of  a  crucified  Messiah  is  on  their  souls.  Re- 
pentance will  not  cancel  it.  Something  else  is  needed, 
some  more  potent  solvent  than  tears  to  erase  the  record 
in  God's  book  of  remembrance.  That  most  potent  thing 
is  the  blood  of  Christ.  Guilt  calls  for  atonement  as  well 
as  for  repentance.  Therefore  to  the  command  "  Repent" 
is  added  the  command  :  "  Be  baptized  in  the  name  of 
Jesus  Christ  for  the  remission  of  sins,"  a  command  which 
finds  its  commentary  in  the  words  of  this  same  apostle  in 
another  sermon  preached  a  few  days  later.  Neither  is 
there  salvation  in  any  other,  for  "  There  is  none  other 
name  under  heaven  given  among  men  whereby  we  must 
be  saved. "  To  be  baptized  in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ 
is  an  act  of  faith  in  Christ.  To  be  baptized  for  the  re- 
mission of  sins  is  specifically  an  act  of  faith  in  the  atone- 
ment of  Christ,  an  appropriation  to  one's  self  of  the  sacri- 
fice of  "the  Lamb  of  God  that  taketh  away  the  sins  of 
the  world." 

But  baptism  was  more.  Since  it  was  an  outward,  a 
public  act,  it  was  not  only  an  act  of  faith  but  of  confes- 
sion. It  was  an  open  acknowledgment  of  sin,  an  open 
acceptance  of  Christ,  an  open  vow  of  allegiance  to  him. 
Before  friends  and  foes  alike,  it  committed  those  who  re- 
ceived it  to  the  side  of  Jesus  Christ. 

So  then  we  have  in  Peter's  answer  to  the  question , 
"What  shall  we  do?"  these  three  things  :  repentance, 
faith,  confession.  It  is  God  who  has  joined  these  three 
together  ;  and  what  God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man 
put  asunder.  You  cannot  be  saved  by  turning  from  sin 
without  an  acceptance  of  Christ's  atoning  sacrifice  ;  you 
cannot  be  saved  by  accepting  Christ's  atoning  sacrifice 
without  turning  from  sin,  and  neither  your  repentance  nor 

316 


your  faith  will  approve  themselves  genuine  and  complete 
without  open  acknowledgment  before  the  world  of  Him 
by  whom  you  hope  to  be  acknowledged  at  last  before  the 
Father  and  his  holy  angels.  "  For  with  the  heart  man 
believeth  unto  righteousness  and  with  the  mouth  confes- 
sion is  made  unto  salvation."  "Every  one  of  you,"  so 
Peter  made  answer  to  the  various  multitude  who 
thronged  upon  him  with  their  anxious  question  "  There 
is  no  difference."  "  All  have  sinned  and  come  short  of 
the  glory  of  God."  There  is  no  softening  of  the  condi- 
tions for  the  Nicodemuses  who  may  wish  to  become  dis- 
ciples secretly.  There  is  no  exclusion  from  them  of  the 
priests  who  may  have  had  a  personal  share  in  the  guilty 
plot  against  God's  holy  Son.  And  those  words  are  just 
as  applicable  to-day  and  in  this  congregation.  "  Repent 
and  be  baptized,  every  one  of  you." 

But  you  have  been  baptized  already.  Your  parents 
gave  you  baptism  in  your  infancy.  Then  you  have  had  a 
great  advantage  and  trifled  with  it,  a  great  opportunity 
and  missed  it,  a  glorious  birthright  and  despised  it. 
You  ought  to  have  grown  up  a  Christian  child  trusting 
Christ  and  following  him  from  your  earliest  years  and 
you  did  not  do  it.  What  you  have  now  to  do  is  not  to 
be  baptized  anew.  When  Peter  found  that  Simon  Magus 
had  been  baptized  without  a  true  conversion  he  said 
nothing  about  a  new  baptism,  but  he  bade  him  repent. 
What  you  have  to  do  is  to  supply  the  reality  which  is  yet 
lacking,  and  without  which  your  baptism  remains  an 
empty  form.  Faith  and  confession,  this  is  the  spiritual 
part  of  baptism,  and  these  duties  remain  unfulfilled.  Do 
not  think  there  is  for  you  some  new.  some  easier,  some 
peculiar  way.  Repent,  believe,  confess,  every  one  of 
you.  Turn  about,  change  your  mind  from  rejection  of 
Christ  to  submission  to  him.  Appropriate  to  yourself 
the  blood  shed    for    many    for  the  remission  of  sins,  and 

:U7 


lay  your  burden  of  guilt  on  him  who  was  wounded  for 
your  transgressions  and  bruised  for  your  iniquities.  Own 
him  before  the  world  as  your  Lord  and  Saviour,  number- 
ing yourself  with  his  people  here  that  he  may  make  you 
to  be  numbered  with  his  saints  in  glory  everlasting. 

It  is  not  recorded  that  all  those  who  asked  this  earn- 
est question  accepted  Peter's  answer.  In  the  form  of  the 
record  :  "Then  they  that  gladly  received  his  word  were 
baptized,"  the  contrary  is  rather  implied.  It  is  one 
thing  to  be  awakened  and  another  to  be  converted,  one 
thing  to  ask  in  all  earnestness:  "What  shall  I  do?" 
another  thing  to  do  as  we  are  bidden.  Many  a  Naaman 
has  come  to  the  prophet's  door,  and  gone  away  in  a  rage. 
Many  a  young  man  has  come  saying  :  "  Good  Master, 
what  must  I  do  to  inherit  eternal  life,"  and  gone  away 
sorrowful. 

It  is  midnight.  The  streets  are  deserted.  The  dis- 
tant foot-fall  of  the  watchman  alone  breaks  the  stillness. 
What  is  this  crouching  form  that  I  see  lingering  near  the 
steps  of  that  quiet  dwelling,  hugging  about  her  shoulders 
a  scanty  shawl.  She  was  a  woman  once.  Let  us  not 
name  her  now.  And  this  was  her  childhood's  home,  and 
weary  of  sin  and  shame  she  has  come  back  to  cast  her- 
self at  her  mother's  feet  and  beg  to  be  taken  in.  See, 
she  ascends  the  steps  ;  she  lifts  her  hand  to  the  knocker. 
One  moment  more  and  the  door  will  be  opened,  and  she 
will  be  clasped  to  a  loving  bosom.  But  no,  she  hesitates, 
she  withdraws  her  hand.  Overwhelmed  with  the  dread 
of  meeting  those  pure  eyes,  of  facing  brothers'  and  sis- 
ters' questioning  looks,  her  courage  has  failed  her,  and 
leaving  the  knocker  unlifted  she  turns  and  glides  away 
into  the  darkness.  Oh,  had  she  but  heard  the  voice  at 
that  moment  pleading  within  those  walls  for  the  erring 
one  ;  had  she  but  been  told  to  take  that  one  decisive 
step!     So  near  to  rescue  yet  unsaved! 

318 


Awakened,  inquiring,  seeking  soul,  not  far  from  the 
kingdom  of  God  to-day,  do  not  draw  back  from  this  one 
last  step.      "  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  thee." 


319 


THE  ELEMENT  OF  DOCTRINE  IN  RELIGION. 

Till  I  come,  give  attendance  to  *  *  *  *  doctrine. — 
I  Tim.  4:13. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  religious  tendencies  of  the 
day  to  depreciate  doctrine.  Doctrinal  preaching,  doctri- 
nal study  by  Christians  for  themselves,  doctrinal  teach- 
ing of  children  in  the  Sunday  school  or  at  home,  all 
these  are  decried  and  disused.  "The  life!  the  life!"  is 
now  the  cry. 

Preaching  should  be  the  exhortation  of  men  to  a 
good  life.  Let  us  study  the  Bible  only  for  its  pure 
morality  and  its  good  examples,  skipping  the  hard 
places  such  as  the  fifth  and  ninth  chapters  of  Romans, 
just  as  we  skip  the  hard  names  of  the  opening  chapters 
of  Chronicles.  We  accept  the  Scriptures  as  profitable 
for  "reproof,  for  correction,  for  instruction  in  right- 
eousness," but  not  "  for  doctrine,"  since  doctrine  itself 
is  no  longer  found  profitable.  And  we  say  of  the  indi- 
vidual, "No  matter  what  he  believes  if  only  he  is 
sincere." 

This  is  a  natural  reaction  from  an  extreme  of  doctri- 
nal rigidity  and  polemic  heat,  but,  like  most  reactions, 
it  is  itself  an  extreme.  The  pendulum  has  swung  too 
far.  Of  course,  if  religion  be  only  a  sentiment,  if  to 
stand  in  rapt  admiration  before  the  Sistine  Madonna; 
to  apostrophize  the  soaring  lark;  to  compose  a  melting 
symphony;  to  grow  pensive  at  the  sunset,  if  this  — 
though  all  the  while  you  be  a  liar,  or  a  profligate  —  is 
religion;  —  if  to  love  —  anybody  or  anything,  no  matter 

3aq 


whether  worthy  the  devotion  of  a  rational  spirit  or 
not,  is  religion,  then  religion  has  nothing  to  do  with 
doctrine.  Poetic  rhapsodies  on  the  divinity  of  beauty- 
are  the  preaching  it  demands.  Or  if  religion  be  a  mat- 
ter of  conduct  alone,  the  practice  of  virtue  as  be- 
tween man  and  man, — honesty,  integrity,  doing  as 
we  would  be  done  by, — then  doctrine  has  no  place 
there.  Panegyrics  upon  the  virtues,  in  the  manner  of 
Seneca,  are  the  preaching  for  such  a  religion. 

But  if  religion  is  an  affair  of  the  whole  soul — if 
intellect,  feeling  and  will  are  all  concerned  in  it;  if  it 
includes  our  relations  to  God  in  even  a  higher  degree 
than  it  does  our  relations  to  each  other,  if  religion  con- 
sists in  knowing,  loving,  and  obeying  God  —  and  noth- 
ing less  than  this  is  worthy  to  be  called  religion,  — then 
the  great  doctrines  concerning  God  and  man,  concern- 
ing sin  and  redemption,  concerning  eternity  and  retri- 
bution, are  its  very  bone  and  marrow. 

Therefore  we  find  the  Scriptures  replete  with  doc- 
trinal teaching,  and  insisting  strenuously  on  doctrinal 
study. 

The  shorter  catechism  sums  up  truly  the  substance 
of  Scripture  in  the  statement  "  The  Scriptures  principally 
teach  what  man  is  to  believe  concerning  God,  and  what 
duty  God  requires  of  man." 

This  exhortation  of  Paul  to  his  son  Timothy  was 
consistent  with  his  own  practice.  His  epistles  are  doc- 
trinal sometimes  to  abstruseness.  His  sermon  to  the 
Athenians  on  Mars'  Hill  is  full  of  doctrine. 

John,  the  apostle  of  love,  whom  we  are  wont  to  con- 
trast with  Paul  as  expressing  the  emotional,  rather  than 
the  intellectual  side  of  Christianity,  rivals  Paul  in  the 
prominence  he  gives  to  doctrinal  teaching,  and  furnishes 
perhaps  the  severest  denunciation  of  doctrinal  heresy  to 
be  found  in  the  New  Testament  (2  Jno.    9-10),  a  denun- 

m 


ciation  which  would  win  for  any  theologian  who  in  these 
days  should  repeat  it  literally,  the  titles  of  bigot  and 
fanatic. 

But,  it  is  claimed,  that  in  this  particular,  the  disci- 
ples swerved  from  the  example  of  the  Master.  This  dog- 
matism was  their  great  mistake.  Jesus  himself  taught 
precepts,  not  dogmas.  We  hear  much  from  those  who 
reason  thus  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  ;  but  less  of 
the  discourses  to  Nicodemus,  to  the  woman  of  Samaria, 
to  the  multitude  that  followed  him  for  the  sake  of  the 
loaves,  to  Martha  on  the  way  to  the  grave  of  Lazarus,  to 
the  disciples  as  they  sat  together  at  the  last  supper,  of 
such  chapters  as  the  25th  of  Matthew  beginning  with  the 
parable  of  the  Two  Virgins  and  ending  with  "  These  shall 
go  away  into  everlasting  punishment ;  but  the  righteous  into 
life  eternal,''''  and  of  the  Great  Commission  with  which, 
after  his  ascension,  he  sent  his  disciples  forth,  "  All  power 
is  given  unto  me  in  heaven  and  in  earth." 

The  truth  is  that  a  careful  analysis  of  even  the  few 
fragments  of  the  Master's  teachings  which  these  four 
brief  gospels  have  preserved  to  us,  reveals  there  the 
germs  of  all  the  doctrines  wrought  out  in  more  systematic 
form  in  the  epistles.  No  narrowing  of  the  limits  of  in- 
spired Scripture  can  eliminate  the  doctrinal  element. 
Not  only  does  it  remain  in  the  gospels  when  you  have 
rejected  the  epistles,  but  even  when  in  the  desperate  at- 
tempt to  get  rid  of  it  you  have  tampered  with  the  gospels 
themselves  throwing  out  the  fourth  and  mutilating  the 
others  till,  if  you  choose,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  alone 
is  left,  which  is  exalted  by  many  as  the  sum  total  of  the 
Gospel,  even  then  you  shall  find  the  same  interweaving 
of  the  two  elements,  the  woof  of  precept  inwrought  and 
held  in  place  in  a  warp  of  doctrine.  The  being  of  God, 
his  personality,  his  perfection,  his  power,  his  providence, 
the  possibility   and  power   of   prayer,  man's  sin,  his  ac- 

322 


countability,  the  rewards  and  punishments  of  a  future 
state,  and  the  possibility  of  forgiveness,  all  these  doctrines, 
either  presupposed  or  directly  asserted,  are,  in  this  one 
discourse,  appealed  to  as  motives  for  the  observance  of 
those  precepts  which  it  is  the  main  drift  of  the  discourse 

to  inculcate. 

Those    who    raise    this    protest  against  doctrine,   do 
not    seem    to    realize    that    questions  of    doctrine    are  in 
reality  simply  questions  of  fact.     We  have  a  great  respect 
for  the  scientific  man  who  devotes  his  life  to    a  laborious 
investigation  of    the  facts    of    chemistry,  of    geology,    of 
astronomy.      We  dwell  with  delight   on    Franklin    flying 
his  kite  to  determine  whether  it   is  a  fact  that  the  light- 
ning is  caused  by  electricity,  and  read  with  enthusiasm  of 
the  new  discoveries  that  are  made  in  our  own  day  in  the 
rocks  and  in  the  stars.      Shall  we  then  regard  these  facts 
with  profound  interest,  and  hold  the  investigators  of  them 
in  deserved  esteem,  yet  treat  as  indifferent  and  even  im- 
pertinent all  inquiry  into  the  facts  of  the  spiritual  world? 
Whether  there  is  or  is  not  a  God  ;  whether  if  there 
is,  he  is  a  person  or  only  an  essence  ;  whether,  if  a  per- 
son, he  concerns  himself  at  all  with  our  affairs  ;   whether 
it  is  of  any  use  to  go  to  him  with  our  needs,  our  troubles, 
our  requests  ;  whether  he  holds  us  accountable  for  our 
conduct  ;  if  so,  whether  we  are  just  now  in  a  position  to 
gain  his  approbation  ;  whether  we  are  in  reality  good  at 
heart,  or  bad  ;  and  whether  what  we  need  is  a  develop- 
ment of  our  characters  as  they  are,  or,  before  all,  a  radi- 
cal change  of   character  ;  if  any   change  is  needed,  how 
it  is  to  be  brought  about  ;  whether  there  is  a  life  beyond 
this,  and  whether  our  conduct  here  will  make  any  differ- 
ence   with    our    condition  there  ;    and  if    so,     precisely 
what  are  the  conditions  of  future  happiness  ;  whether  the 
Bible  is  the  word  of   God,  containing  his  own  authorita- 
tive answers  to  these  questions,  or  whether  it  is  a  simple 

•m 


human  production  containing  "guesses  at  truth"; 
whether  Jesus  was  a  teacher  worthy  of  belief,  and  if  so, 
what  he  was  ;  whether  or  not  he  rose  from  the  dead  as 
his  disciples  claimed  ;  whether  he  was  or  was  not  some- 
thing more  than  a  man;  whether  we  may  or  may  not  pray 
to  him  now  ;  whether  he  is  or  is  not  at  this  moment  gov- 
erning the  world  and  answering  the  prayers  that  are  ad- 
dressed to  him  ;  these  are  all  questions  of  fact.  In  refer- 
ence to  each  one  of  them  there  is  a  truth  and  there  is  a 
falsehood. 

And,  more  than  this,  it  is  of  the  last  importance  that 
we  should  know  what  is  the  truth  and  what  the  falsehood. 
Not  only  is  it  facts  that  are  at  issue  here,  but  they  are  the 
facts  of  all  facts  that  it  most  vitally  concerns  us  to  know. 

The  human  mind  is  so  made  that  all  facts  interest  it 
whether  they  seem  to  have  any  practical  bearing  or  not. 
Questions  concerning  the  laws  of  electricity,  the  motions 
of  the  stars,  the  constitution  of  the  sun, — all  these  have 
an  interest,  an  absorbing interestfor  us,  but  what  are  all 
these  questions,  what  are  all  the  discoveries  of  science  and 
all  the  inventions  and  the  strides  of  material  civilization  to 
which  they  lead,  compared  with  these  vast,  these  wide- 
reaching,  these  infinite  questions  which  affect  our  im- 
mortal spirits?  By  so  much  as  spirit  is  higher  than 
matter,  and  the  unseen  world  more  real  and  more  endur- 
ing than  the  world  that  is  seen,  by  so  much  are  these 
questions  touching  the  spiritual  and  the  unseen,  these 
questions  of  theology,  these  questions  of  doctrine,  the 
vital  and  overshadowing  questions  of  human  life.  No 
man  releases  himself  from  the  dominion  of  facts  by  in- 
difference to  them.  The  facts  remain  and  they  govern  his 
life.  If  he  does  not  accommodate  himself  to  them,  they 
will  make  him  miserable.  We  are  all  of  us  in  the  spirit- 
ual world,  whether  we  will  or  not.  Shutting  our  eyes  to 
it  will  not  take  us  out  of  it.      The  only  effect  of  shutting 

324 


our  eyes  will  be  to  make  us  stumble  and  fall. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  in  this  respect 
the  conditions  of  our  spiritual  life  are  in  any  wise  differ- 
ent from  those  of  our  natural  life.  In  both  worlds  there 
are  laws,  to  violate  which,  is  to  bring  certain  penalty  upon 
themselves.  A  man  cannot  afford  to  be  ignorant  of  any 
of  the  laws  of  his  being.  There  are  certain  laws  of  health, 
the  observance  of  which  promotes  soundness  and 
strength  of  body,  and  the  neglect  of  which  .begets  dis- 
ease. Just  as  truly  are  there  laws  of  spiritual  health,  the 
observance  or  neglect  of  which  is  attended  with  corres- 
ponding results. 

In  neither  case  does  the  sincerity  of  one's  error  make 
any  difference  with  the  result.  The  inflexibility  of  law  is 
a  truth  that  science  is  bringing  ever  more  and  more  into 
relief.  A  certain  course  of  conduct  is  followed  by  cer- 
tain effects,  which  depend  not  at  all  on  the  design  of  the 
action  but  wholly  on  the  nature  of  the  act.  The  man  who 
takes  a  draught  of  corrosive  sublimate  because  he  finds 
it  in  a  bottle  labelled  sulphate  of  quinine,  and  believes  it 
just  the  medicine  he  needs,  will  die  just  as  quickly  as  the 
man  who  deliberately  pours  it  out  and  drinks  it,  knowing 
what  it  is,  with  intent  to  kill  himself.  The  man  who 
overtaxes  his  system,  in  a  self-denying  struggle  to  keep 
his  wife  and  children  above  want,  will  fall  a  victim  to 
apoplexy  or  paralysis  as  quickly,  as  though  he  did  it  out 
of  a  selfish  greed  to  fill  his  coffers  with  a  miser's  hoard. 
The  deluded  wretch  who,  in  all  sincerity,  abandons  him- 
self to  the  lewd  rites  of  an  obscene  religion,  to  the 
worship  of  the  Cyprian  Venus  of  the  Syrian  Ashtoreth 
will  end  by  making  himself  as  much  a  beast,  and  sinking 
as  deep  in  the  slough  of  moral  pollution,  as  he  who  gives 
himself  up  to  like  practices  in  conscious  defiance  of  all 
religion. 

Mr.  Beecher  used  to  be  pointed  out  as  a  shining 
325 


example  of  the  improved  style  of  preaching  which  leaves 
out  the  doctrines.  Yet  listen  to  his  own  statement  and 
illustrations:  "It  is  often  said", — I  quote  his  words — 
"It  is  no  matter  what  a  man  believes  if  he  is  only  sin- 
cere. This  is  true  of  all  minor  truths,  and  false  of  all 
truths  whose  nature  it  is  to  fashion  a  man's  life.  It  will 
make  no  difference  in  a  man's  harvest  whether  he  think 
turnips  have  more  saccharine  matter  than  potatoes, 
whether  corn  is  better  than  wheat.  But  let  the  man 
sincerely  believe  that  seed  planted  without  plowing  is 
as  good  as  with,  that  January  is  as  favorable  for  seed- 
sowing  as  April,  and  that  cockle-seed  will  produce  as 
good  a  harvest  as  wheat,  and  will  it  make  no  dif- 
ference? " 

But  there  are  no  truths  which  have  in  them  such 
power  to  fashion  the  life,  as  the  great  truths  about  God 
and  Christ  and  the  hereafter. 

A  man  often  falls  below  his  creed,  just  as  he  often 
falls  below  his  ideal.  But  he  seldom  or  never  lives  above 
it.  One  may  indeed  put  his  creed  away  in  some  closet  of 
his  mind,  lock  it  up,  and  never  look  at  it.  But  so  far  as  he 
uses  it, — and  a  creed  is  made  to  be  used  and  not  locked 
up, — it  shapes  his  life. 

Will  it  make  no  difference  with  a  man's  life  whether 
he  acts  on  the  belief  that  there  is  a  God,  that  he  is  a  sin- 
ner needing  a  Saviour,  that  Jesus  is  the  incarnate  Son  of 
God  who  came  into  this  world  to  save  sinners,  or 
whether  he  acts  on  beliefs  the  opposite  of  these? 

Nay,  it  will  make  a  difference,  such  a  difference  that 
if  he  acts  upon  the  wrong  beliefs  in  these  matters,  his 
life  will  be  a  blunder,  a  well  meant  blunder,  if  you  choose, 
but  a  fatal  and  an  irretreivable  blunder,  nevertheless.  In- 
deed the  more  sincere  one  is,  i.  e. ,  the  more  intense  his 
convictions,  the  worse,  if  his  convictions  are  wrong.  For 
they  will  impel  him  the  more  powerfully  in  the  wrong 
direction.  326 


One  of  two  things  we  must  do.  Either  we  must 
shape  our  life  according  to  some  definite  plan  or  we  must 
drift.  To  drift,  beside  being  unworthy  of  a  creature  with 
intelligence,  is  certain  shipwreck.  But  to  form  a  plan, 
we  must  have  made  up  our  minds  concerning  great 
spiritual  facts,  to  form  a  judicious  plan  we  must  have 
made  up  our  mind  upon  them  according  to  truth.  Sail- 
ing by  a  chart  is  no  safer  than  drifting,  unless  the  chart 
be  true. 

But  some  would  put  it  another  way.  Instead  of  say- 
iug  :  no  matter  what  one  believes,  so  long  as  he  is  sin- 
cere, they  say  :  no  matter  what  one  believes  so  long  as 
his  life  is  right.  Very  well  ;  be  it  so.  Without  doubt 
character  is  ultimate.  It  is  the  life,  not  the  belief,  that 
is  weighed  in  the  balance.  But  will  the  life  be  right,  can 
it  be  right  when  belief  on  fundamental  points  is  wrong? 
"Oh  God,  though  he  doubted  thy  being,  he  lived  thy 
law,"  was  the  prayer  of  a  so-called  "liberal"  minister, 
by  the  grave  of  one  who  had  said  in  his  heart,  "There  is 
no  God."  Lived  God's  law  !  that  law  of  which  the  first 
great  commandment  is:  "Thou  shall  love  the  Lord  thy 
God  with  all  thy  heart  and  with  all  thy  soul  and  with  all 
thy  strength  and  with  all  thy  mind." 

The  word  of  God  itself  says:  "Without  faith  it  is 
impossible  to  please  him;  for  he  that  eometh  to  God  must  be- 
lieve that  he  is,  and  that  he  is  a  rewarder  of  them  that  dili- 
gently seek  him." 

There,  then,  are  at  least  two  articles  of  creed  laid  down 
as  indispensable  to  the  very  beginning  of  a  right  life.  It 
is  by  first  narrowing  the  definition  of  a  right  life  so  as  to 
leave  out  some  of  its  most  essential  features  that  we  so 
easily  persuade  ourselves  that  the  creed  has  nothing  to 
do  with  such  a  life.  Life  is  shaped  by  motives;  and 
motives  grow  out  of  convictions.  The  aim  of  religion,  it 
is  urged,  is  not  to  teach  men  what  they  ought  to  believe, 

327 


but  what  they  ought  to  be.  No,  not  that  either.  The 
aim  of  religion  is  not  even  to  teach  men  what  they  ought 
to  be,  but  to  make  them  what  they  ought  to  be.  'Tis 
one  thing  to  make  men  see  their  duty,  and  quite  another 
thing  to  make  them  do  their  duty.  For  this,  mighty  mo- 
tives are  needed.  And  nowhere  are  motives  so  mighty 
to  be  found  as  in  the  great  realities  of  the  spiritual  world 
as  set  forth  in  the  doctrines  of  the  Bible. 

Socrates  believed  that  sin  was  the  result  of  igno- 
rance, and  that  men  only  needed  to  be  shown  the  better 
way  to  walk  in  it.  But  when  he  and  his  followers, — the 
wisest  and  purest  philosophers  of  Greece,  if  not  of  the 
world, — had  been  pointing  the  way  for  four  hundred 
years  the  world  was  no  better  than  before  ;  and  we  still 
find  the  cultivated  Roman  poet,  with  all  these  teachings 
before  him,  cooly  confessing  :  "I  see  and  approve  the 
better  ;  I  follow  the  worse."  And  you  and  I,  my  friends, 
know  only  too  well  how  many  wise  and  earnest  exhorta- 
tions to  duty  we  have  heard  and  approved  of  and — 
neglected. 

Mere  exhortation  will  always  be  received  so  by  the 
mass  of  mankind.  Preaching  which  consists  simply  in 
imploring  men  to  "  be  good",  will  always  fail.  Trying  to 
move  men  so,  is  like  trying  to  move  a  boulder  by  a  direct 
push  of  the  crowbar.  First  throw  down  a  solid  block  of 
doctrine  as  a  fulcrum,  and  then  resting  your  lever  of  ex- 
hortation upon  that  you  may  work  to  some  purpose.  It 
was  the  boast  of  Christianity  that  she  brought  a  purer 
morality  to  men  ;  but  it  was  her  prouder  boast  that  she 
brought  men  to  a  purer  morality.  It  was  something  to 
have  given  the  world  a  more  perfect  code  of  ethics  than 
all  the  philosophies  and  all  the  religions  of  antiquity 
could  furnish.  But  often  as  her  first  defenders  against 
the  assaults  of  heathenism  and  scepticism  appealed  to 
this,  they  appealed  yet  oftener  and  with   greater  triumph 

328 


to  her  success  in  reducing  that  sublime  code  to  practice, 
and  purifying  a  society  that  was  festering  in  its  own  rot- 
tenness. And  this  achievement  she  owed  to  her  doctrines 
of  God,  of  man,  of  sin,  of  redemption,  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  of  heaven  and  hell.  It  was  the  tremendous  and 
accumulated  weight  of  these  behind  her  exhortations, 
driving  them  home  to  the  very  core  of  men's  souls  that 
made  them  take  hold  as  no  exhortation  of  the  mere 
moralist  had  ever  taken  hold. 

Armed  with  the  power  of  these  doctrines  her  mis- 
sionaries have  gone  hopefully  among  the  most  debased 
and  imbruted  of  mankind,  among  savages  so  ignorant 
thai  they  could  scarce  grasp  the  simplest  processes  of 
multiplication,  and  so  vile  that  the  last  vestiges  of  the 
family  had  disappeared  ;  and  there,  where  the  moralist 
would  have  stood  aghast,  when  the  most  sanguine  of 
philosophers  would  not  have  had  the  hardihood  to  put 
his  system  to  the  test, — there,  waiting  for  no  prepara- 
tory process  of  civilization,  nor  of  education  other  than 
education  in  these  same  doctrines  which  some  think  too 
abstruse  and  recondite  to  be  of  profit  to  an  American 
congregation,  they  have  wrought  results  by  the  side  of 
which  there  is  nothing  more  wonderful  even  in  the  open- 
ing of  the  eyes  of  the  blind  and  the  raising  of  the  dead  to 
life. 

You  may  think,  my  friend,  that  you  are  so  in  love 
with  purity  and  virtue  that  you  need  no  such  goad  to 
your  pursuit  of  them.  Have  you  then  found  it  so?  Are 
you  making  such  rapid  strides  towards  the  goal  of  moral 
perfection,  and  do  you  find  the  steep  ascent  so  easy  that 
you  can  afford  to  dispense  with  anything  that  would  sup- 
port and  quicken  your  steps? 

"  Give  attendance  to  doctrine"  !  It  is  a  charge  not 
for  the  preacher  only,  but  for  every  man  and  woman,  yea, 
and  child.      "Add   to  your  faith    virtue,    and   to    virtue, 


knowledge.1''        "  Whatsoever    things    are    true — think    on 
these   things. " 

The  spiritual  world  is  too  real  and  too  near  for  you 
to  put  aside  all  question  about  it  with  easy  nonchalance. 
Its  possibilities  of  evil  and  misery  are  too  tremendous  to 
be  dismissed  with  the  sluggard's  confidence  that  "some- 
how all  will  come  out  right."  "Give  attendance  to 
doctrine  ;  "  and  let  it  be  a  reverent  and  earnest  attend- 
ance. This  is  no  field,  and  your  brief  lite  gives  no  time 
for  a  dilettante  scepticism.  The  great  questions  about 
God  and  the  soul,  the  solemn  questions  that  men  ask  in 
the  shadow  of  the  cross,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  grave, 
are  no  riddles  for  an  after-dinner  exercise  of  wit.  They 
are  questions  to  be  pondered  and  wrestled  with  and 
prayed  over  till  the  fulfillment  of  the  promise  is  obtained  : 
"  When  he,  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  is  come,  he  will  guide 
you  into  all  truth." 


330 


SONGS  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

"  By  reason  of  the  multitude  of  oppressions  they  cry  out; 
They  cry  for  help  by  reason  of  the  arm  of  the  mighty; 
But  none  saith,  where  is  God,  my  maker, 
Who  giveth  songs  in  the  night?  "-Job  35: 9-™-     R-  v  ■ 
The  book  of  Job  unfolds  in  a  dramatic   dialogue  of 
unsurpassed  power  and  beauty  the  struggle  of  the  human 
mind  with  the  problems  presented  by  the   divine  govern- 
ment of    this  world.       On  the  one   side   are    Job's   three 
friends,  contending  stoutly  for  the  proposition,  that  under 
th-  government  of  a  just  God  suffering  is  always  the  pen- 
alty and    therefore  the  proof    of   guilt  ;  and  that  when  a 
good  man  (in  appearance)  is  overwhelmed  with  calamity, 
it  stamps  him    as  a  cunning   hypocrite,   who    beneath  a 
mask  of  piety  conceals  a  character  rotten  to  the  core.  On 
the  other  side  is  Job  himself,  in  his  conscious  integrity, 
repelling  with  indignation  the  conclusions  of  his  mends, 
vet  so  far  accepting  their  premises  that  he  is   involved  in 
a  hopeless    mental  conflict,  in  which  he  is    brought  once 
and  again  to  the  very  verge  of    an  impeachment  of  God. 
After  Tob  has  thus  by  his  vehemence  silenced  his  friends 
without  satisfying   himself    or   finding    a  solution   of  the 
problem,  another   party   to  the  discussion  presents    him- 
self, in    the  person   of    Elihn,    the    son    of    Barachc    the 
Buzite,  who,  despite  his  youth,  essays  to  play  the  role  of 
umpire  in  the  strife,  and  give  a  solution  which  shall  place 
both  Job  and  his  friends  in  the  wrong.      This  he  accom- 
plishes   with    but  indifferent    success,  suggesting  indeed 
one    important   truth    which  the    former    disputants  had 

331 


Overlooked,  and  which  does  much  to  relieve  the  difficulty, 
to-wit,  the  disciplinary  aspect  of  trial,  yet  leaving  the 
matter  still  involved  in  darkness,  till  God  himself  draws 
near  in  the  awful  majesty  of  the  storm,  and  speaks  the 
final  word. 

It  is  in  this  discourse  of  Elihu  that  we  find  the  words 
to  which  I  have  drawn  your  attention.  They  are  a  reply 
to  the  complaint  of  Job  (set  forth  at  length  in  chap.  24  : 
1-12,)  that  God  allows  so  much  oppression  and  misery  to 
go  unrelieved  and  unavenged.  ' '  They  pluck  the  fatherless 
from  the  breast,"  Job  had  complained,  "and  take  a 
pledge  of  the  poor,  they  cause  him  to  go  naked  without 
clothing  and  they  take  away  the  sheaf  from  the  hungry. 
.  Men  groan  from  out  of  the  city,  and  the  soul 
of  the  wounded  crieth  out,  yet  God  layeth  not  folly  to 
them  " — that  is,  he  does  not  bring  them  to  account  for 
their  cruelty. 

Looking  back  to  these  words  Elihu  declares,  that  if 
the  oppressed  cry  out  in  vain  and  obtain  no  deliverance, 
it  is  because  they  do  not  turn  to  the  true  source  of  relief. 
"  By  reason  of  the  multitude  of  oppressions  they  cry  out. 
They  cry  for  help  by  reason  of  the  arm  of  the  mighty  ; 
but  none  saith  :  where  is  God  my  maker,  who  giveth 
songs  in  the  night?  " 

"Songs  in  the  night" — let  this  then  be  our  theme, 
and  let  us  learn  ever  from  Elihu's  imperfect  wisdom  this 
great  lesson,  that  he  who  would  learn  these  songs  must 
have  God  for  his  teacher. 

Night!  It  is  God's  symbol  of  all  painful  and  gloomy 
things.  It  stands  in  his  word  for  sorrow  and  loss,  as  the 
light  and  the  day  for  prosperity  and  joy.  And  as  there 
is  no  land  under  the  sun  on  which  the  shades  of  night  do 
not  fall,  so  there  is  no  human  life  which  has  not  its  night 
of  weeping,  its  deep  shadows  of  trial.  Of  one  land  alone, 
and  that    a    "land  that   is  very  far   off,"  is   it   written, 

332 


"  There  shall  be  no  night  there,"  a  prophecy  which  finds 
its  counterpart  and  its  interpretation  in  those  other 
words  :  "  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 
Life  here  is  a  checkered  experience,  of  mingled  light 
and  darkness,  smiles  and  tears.  Sooner  or  later  the 
brightest  sun  of  prosperity,  of  happiness,  goes  down,  and 
it  is  night.  It  may  be  the  lonely  night  of  bereavement, 
when  one  listens  in  the  awful  silence  for  a  voice  that  is 
forever  still.  It  may  be  the  chilly  night  of  misplaced 
trust  and  disappointed  affection,  when  one  sits  in  sack- 
cloth by  the  ashes  of  a  desolated  hearth.  It  may  be  the 
restless,  tossing  night  of  pain  and  sickness.  It  may  be 
the  bleak  and  wintry  night  of  poverty  and  unsuccessful 
struggle.  It  may  be  the  stormy  night  of  oppression  and 
persecution,  in  which  the  lightnings  flash  and  the  rain 
beats  pitilessly  on  a  defenseless  head.  In  one  guise  or 
another  the  night  comes  to  all.  "  Man  that  is  born  of 
woman,  is  of  few  days  and  full  of  trouble." 

But  while  the  experience  of  trouble  is  common  to  all, 
men  differ  widely  in  their  way  of  meeting  trouble.  These 
words  of  Elihu  suggest  this  difference.  They  describe  a 
common  way  of  meeting  trouble,  which  brings  no  relief ; 
they  point  out  a  better  way  ;  and  they  show  the  effect  of 
meeting  trouble  in  that  better  way. 

Elihu  makes  first  of  all  a  sweeping  assertion  respect- 
ing the  way  in  which  men  are  wont  to  meet  trial,  in  that 
particular  form  of  it  to  which  he  was  then  referring — 
"By  reason  of  the  multitude  of  oppressions,  they  cry  out; 
the  cry  for  help  by  reason  of  the  arm  of  the  mighty  ;  but 
none  saith,  where  is  God  my  maker?  "  That  is,  few  say 
this.  The  mass  of  men,  when  trouble  comes  upon  them, 
meet  it  simply  with  groans  and  complaints.  They  turn 
every  way  for  relief  but  the  right  way.  They  cry  out, 
now  in  rage  and  now  in  despair,  but  they  do  not  pray. 
They    look    upon    their    troubles    perhaps    as    an    ac- 


cident,  perhaps  as  an  injustice,  rarely  as  a  lesson 
set  by  a  loving  hand  ;  moaning  in  mere  pain,  as  the  brute 
might,  rather  than  asking  after  a  deeper  meaning.  ' '  None 
saith,  where  is  God  my  maker,  who  giveth  songs  in  the 
night,  who  teacheth  us  more  than  the  beasts  of  the  field 
and  maketh  us  wiser  than  the  fowls  of  heaven?  " 

This  is  too  true  a  picture  of  human  life.  Few  things 
are  sadder  than  the  rarity  of  true  religion  among  those 
who  seem  most  to  need  its  consolation.  Take,  for  in- 
stance, the  condition  of  the  laboring  classes  in  England 
to-day.  It  is  a  condition  of  great,  often  abject  misery. 
It  is  misery  resulting  in  great  part  from  oppression,  the 
oppression  of  an  unjust  land  system,  and  the  oppression 
of  soulless  capital.  By  reason  of  the  multitude  of  these 
oppressions  the  oppressed  cry  out.  Yet  none  saith, 
"  Where  is  God  my  maker?"  For  if  there  is  one  thing 
sadder  than  the  physical  condition  of  these  masses  it  is 
their  spiritual  condition.  Of  all  classes  in  England  they 
are  admitted  to  be  the  most  destitute  of  religion,  the 
most  inaccessible  to  the  comforting  message  of  the 
gospel.  This  misery,  when  it  has  not  hardened  them 
into  a  bitter  hatred  of  a  religion  identified  in  their  minds 
with  the  oppressions  under  which  they  groan,  seems  to 
have  crushed  out  their  susceptibility  to  spiritual  influence. 

The  cry  of  "Bread,  bread,"  which  inaugurated  the 
French  Revolution  with  its  wild  carnival  of  atheism, — 
the  cry  of  nihilism  to-day,  proclaiming  on  behalf  of  the 
oppressed  masses  of  Europe  that  "  the  first  lie  is  God, 
and  the  second  lie  is  right,"  and  demanding  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  religion  as  well  as  all  social  order  as  the  only 
remedy  for  the  ills  under  which  they  groan  ;  the  cry  of 
communism,  telling  the  toil-worn  and  the  hungry  that 
Christianity  has  nothing  to  say  to  them,  and  preaching  to 
them  a  gospel  of  anarchy  leading  to  a  millenium  of  idle- 
ness,— these   are   examples    of    the   cry  of  which    Elihu 

334 


speaks,  a  cry  as  old  as  the  groaning  of  thelsraelitesunder 
their  Egyptian  task-masters,  when  they  bade  Moses  and 
Aaron  go  their  ways  and  let  them  alone,  because  they  had 
made  their  case  worse  than  before  ; — a  cry  which  brings 
back  no  answer  but  its  own  wailing  echo.  If  I  have  gone 
abroad  for  illustrations,  it  is  only  because  there  the  con- 
trasts are  a  little  sharper,  the  lights  and  shades  a  little 
more  pronounced.  Turn  to  our  own  city,  go  into  its 
wretchedest  quarters,  where  the  poverty  is  deepest,  the 
toil  hardest  and  most  ill-paid,  the  surroundings  most 
squalid  and  repulsive.  You  may  see  misery  enough  there. 
You  may  hear  groans  and  curses  till  your  soul  is  sick. 
But  how  few  you  will  find  asking  :  "Where  is  God  my 
maker?"  How  long  must  you  listen  for  the  "Song  in 
the  night?" 

Or  turn  in  another  direction.  Go  up  the  marble 
steps  of  yonder  mansion.  Pass  through  that  stately 
portal.  Enter  those  richly  tapestried  parlors.  Without, 
the  sun  is  flooding  the  world  with  glory  ;  but  within  is 
night— deep,  dark  night.  For  the  voice  that  once  made 
those  walls  echo  with  glee  is  still.  The  golden  hair  that 
once  flashed  like  sunshine  through  those  rooms  is  pil- 
lowed in  a  coffin,  and  now  this  is  a  childless  home.  It  is 
night  here  ;  but  you  listen  in  vain  for  any  song  in  the 
night.  For  this  is  a  prayerless  home.  That  mother  is 
weeping  her  life  away  in  despairing  grief.  That  father 
is  going  to  and  fro,  making  no  sign,  mastering  and  lock- 
ing up  in  his  bosom  by  sheer  force  of  will  a  dumb  anguish 
that  is  making  him  old  before  his  time.  But  neither  says  : 
"Where  is  God  my  maker?"  Neither  looks  above  for 
comfort  or  strength.  And  so  the  blessings  are  all  missed. 
The  sweet  songs  that  that  night  of  sorrow  might  have 
taught  are  all  unlearned. 

Oh,  the  pity  of  it  !     The  pity  of  it  !     Of  all  wastes  of 
which    the  world  is  full— wasted  hours,    wasted  riches, 

335 


wasted  labors,  wasted  loves, — what  other  so  pitiful  as  this 
untold  mass  of  wasted  sorrows, — sorrows  that  teach  no 
lesson,  sorrows  that  bring  no  higher  comfort,  sorrows 
that  come  as  heaven's  messengers  to  bring  back  wander- 
ing souls,  but  that  only  end  in  driving  such  souls  farther 
into  darkness  and  rebellion? 

Trouble  so  met  sometimes  leaves  men  bitter  and  de- 
fiant ;  sometimes  it  renders  them  stolidly  indifferent  ; 
sometimes  it  drives  them  to  despair  and  self-destruction  ; 
never  does  it  leave  a  blessing  behind  it.  Now  and  then 
one  tries  to  rise  above  it,  to  sing  in  the  night.  But  the 
song  soon  dies  away  into  a  wail  or  breaks  into  a  sob.  The 
broken  heart  cannot  make  its  own  music.  The  song  in 
the  night  is  a  gift. 

In  contrast,  then,  with  all  these  ways  of  meeting 
trouble, — the  dull  way,  the  defiant  way,  the  despairing  way, 
the  humanly  self-reliant  way,  there  is  but  one  true  way 
of  meeting  it,  but  one  victorious  way,  one  way  which  can 
wring  joy  and  blessing  out  of  the  very  sorrow  itself,  and 
make  music  out  of  pain,  and  that  is,  to  inquire  after 
God. 

To  inquire  after  Him  as  teacher.  Trouble  is  God's 
messenger.  "Affliction  cometh  not  forth  of  the  dust; 
neither  doth  trouble  spring  out  of  the  ground."  We  are 
in  the  hands  of  our  maker.  Day  and  night  come  to  us 
by  His  command.  There  is  no  chance  about  them 
therefore,  but  divine  meaning.  The  night  comes  for  a 
purpose.  It  hides  a  lesson.  It  is  part  of  the  discipline 
by  which  immortal  souls  are  trained.  Hence  no  man  meets 
sorrow  rightly  who  does  not  seek  to  hear  God  speaking 
to  him  in  it.  When  the  voice  came  from  heaven  in 
answer  to  the  prayer  of  Jesus  in  the  temple,  some  of 
them  that  stood  by  said  that  it  thundered  ;  but  Jesus 
himself  heard  the  words  of  strength  and  comfort  spoken 
to  him  by  his   Father.      O   brother   man,  on  whose  head 

336 


the  storm  is  breaking  to-day,  do  not  be  content  to  hear 
in  it  merely  the  thunder  of  nature.  Listen  !  Inquire  ! 
and  you  shall  hear  God's  voice  speaking  its  articulate 
personal  message  of  instruction  to  you. 

This  is  not  saying  that  we  are  to  try  to  trace  in 
every  trial  some  distinct  connection  with  our  own  past 
conduct,  some  rebuke  of  specific  sins.  That  was  the  very 
error  of  Job's  friends,  by  which  he  steadfastly  refused  to 
be  misled.  It  is  not  saying  that  we  should  seek  to  un- 
ravel all  the  mystery  of  Providence,  and  know  why  we 
are  led  in  one  way,  others  in  another,  why  we  suffer 
while  others  rejoice.  These  are  questions  it  is  vain  to 
ask.  Eternity  alone  holds  the  answer  to  them.  It  is 
one  thing  to  ask  such  questions,  and  another  to  ask, 
What  spiritual  truths  would  God  reveal  to  me,  what  les- 
sons of  experience  would  he  have  me  make  in  this  dark- 
ness into  which  he  has  led  me  apart?  These  are 
questions  that  will  never  be  earnestly  asked  without 
finding  an  answer.  They  are  questions  the  asking  of 
which  is  essential  to  the  right  use  of  sorrow,  and  to  true 
comfort  in  sorrow.  For  sorrow  is  endurable  in  propor- 
tion as  it  is  intelligible,  in  proportion  as  we  can  hear  in 
it  a  kindly  voice,  and  see  beyond  it  a  beneficent  aim. 

God  is  also  to  be  inquired  after  as  Helper.  There  is 
a  specific  for  the  bearing  of  trial  as  distinct  as  any  specific 
against  a  fever  or  a  poison,  and  more  sure.  That  specific 
is  prayer.  There  is  relief  in  it,  there  is  strength  in  it, 
such  as  can  be  found  nowhere  else.  Trials  cannot  be 
successfully  borne  alone,  because  they  were  never  meant 
to  be  borne  alone.  They  were  meant  to  be  cast  upon 
God.  They  were  meant  to  throw  us  upon  His  strength 
and  to  teach  us  its  sufficiency.  He  who  attempts  to  bear 
his  trials  without  prayer  makes  the  same  mistake  that  one 
would  make  who  should  attempt  to  carry  a  heavy  load 
all  day  without  food.      If  every  trial  is  God's  messenger, 

337 


a  part  of  its  message  always  is  to  call  us  nearer  to  Him. 
If  every  trial  has  its  lesson  to  teach,  one  of  these  lessons 
is  sure  to  be  the  lesson  of  our  dependence  upon  strength 
from  above. 

See  now  what  the  gain  is  of  thus  coming  to  God.  To 
one  who  thus  comes  to  Him  to  be  taught  and  to  be  sus- 
tained, He  gives  songs  in  the  night.  He  does  not  at  once 
dispel  the  darkness,  perhaps,  but  he  comforts  in  it.  And 
so  in  the  night,  where  nature  can  only  weep,  grace  sings. 

Songs  in  the  night  He  gives  ;  not  one  song  only,  but 
many. 

He  gives  the  song  of  peace  :  "Thou  wilt  keep  him 
in  perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on  Thee."  "In 
everything  by  prayer  and  supplication  with  thanksgiving 
let  your  requests  be  made  known  unto  God,  and  the 
peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding,  shall 
keep  your  hearts  and  minds  through  Christ  Jesus." 

He  gives  the  song  of  trust.  Listen  to  that  song  as 
it  comes  from  the  lips  of  the  sweet  singer  of  Israel  : 
"Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil  ;  for  Thou  art  with  me,  Thy 
rod  and  Thy  staff  they  comfort  me."  "  God  is  our  refuge 
and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in  trouble  ;  therefore 
will  not  we  fear  though  the  earth  be  removed  and  though 
the  mountains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea." 
Listen  to  it  as  it  comes  in  strains  scarcely  less  sweet  from 
uninspired  lips : 

I  know  not  if  or  dark  or  bright 

Shall  be  my  lot, 
If  that  wherein  my  hopes  delight 

Be  best  or  not. 


My  bark  is  wafted  from  the  strand 

By  breath  divine, 
And  on  the  helm  there  rests  a  hand 

Other  than  mine. 

338 


One  who  has  known  in  storms  to  sail. 

I  have  on  board. 
Above  the  raging  of  the  gale 

I  hear  my  Lord. 

He  holds  me  when  the  billows  smite, 

I  shall  not  fall. 
If  sharp,  'tis  short:  if  long,  'tis  light. 

He  tempers  all. 

This  song  of  trust  is  peculiarly  a  song  of  the  night. 
We  can  scarcely  learn  to  sing  it  from  the  heart  till  the 
darkness  gathers  about  us.  And  if  the  darkness  brought 
us  no  other  blessing  than  to  teach  us  that  song,  it  would 
re  worth  all  it  costs. 

But  He  gives  also  the  song  of  hope.  No  night  for 
the  child  of  God  is  eternal.  In  the  deepest  darkness  hope 
catches  glimpses  of  a  coming  dawn.  The  horizon  is 
bright  with  promises,  which,  like  morning  clouds,  glow 
with  the  light  of  approaching  day.  And  so  in  the  deep- 
est gloom  the  Christian  can  sing  of  heaven  :  "I  shall  be 
satisfied  when  I  awake  with  Thy  likeness."  "  Thou  wilt 
show  me  the  path  of  life  ;  at  Thy  right  hand  there  are 
pleasures  forever  more." 

Finally  he  gives — noblest  song  of  all — the  song  of 
triumph.  "Not  only  so,  but  we  glory  in  tribulation." 
"  Our  light  affliction  which  is  but  for  a  moment,  worketh 
for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory." 
"  In  all  these  things  we  are  more  than  conquerors  through 
Him  that  loved  us."  He  enables  us  not  only  to  rejoice 
in  the  face  of  trial,  but  to  rejoice  over  trial,  to  "count  it 
all  joy  when  we  fall  into  divers  temptations,"  because  we 
see  before  us  not  only  deliverance  from  the  trial,  but 
gain  through  the  trial,  purer,  more  Christ-like  character 
and  a  greater  weight  of  glory  as  its  result 

And  so  God's  children  have  always  been  known  in 
the  world  by  their  songs  in  the  night. 

339 


Hark  !  And  you  will  hear  them  coming  faintly 
through  the  barred  casements  of  many  a  dungeon  ;  as  at 
midnight  they  come  from  the  heart  of  that  dungeon  at 
Philippi  where  Paul  and  Silas  lay  with  feet  fast  in  the 
stocks.  Hark  again  !  You  will  hear  them  as  they  ring 
out  cheery  and  full  of  praise  from  the  humble  cottages  of 
the  poor.  Hark  again  !  Can  you  not  hear  them  rising 
in  weak  and  tremulous  tones,  yet  sweet  and  full  of 
patient  trust,  from  beds  of  pain?  Aye,  can  you  not  hear 
them,  sinking  almost  to  a  whisper,  but  that  whisper  a 
whisper  of  triumphant  hope,  on  the  lips  of  those  who  are 
fast  passing  into  the  shadows  of  the  last  night  of  death? 

I  hear  one  of  those  songs  now,  a  glorious,  a  triumph- 
ant song.  It  is  the  voice  of  an  apostle,  and  it  comes 
from  a  Roman  prison,  where  he  lies  waiting  for  the  exe- 
cutioner to  lead  him  forth  to  martyrdom:  "I  am  now 
ready  to  be  offered,  and  the  time  of  my  departure  is  at 
hand.  I  have  fought  a  good  fight  ;  I  have  finished  my 
course  ;  I  have  kept  the  faith.  Henceforth  there  is  laid 
up  for  me  a  crown  which  the  Lord  the  righteous  judge 
shall  give  me  at  that  day." 

I  hear  another,  coming  sweet  and  clear  from  behind 
the  bars  of  the  Bastile.  This  time  it  is  a  woman's  voice 
that  I  hear,  the  voice  of  Madame  Guyon,  imprisoned 
there  for  her  faith. 

"A  little  bird  am  I, 

Shut  from  the  fields  of  air; 
And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 

To  him  who  placed  me  there ; 
Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be, 
Because,  my  God  it  pleases  Thee, 
Naught  have  I  else  to  do  ; 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long; 
And  he  whom  most  I  love  to  please, 

Doth  listen  to  my  song, 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 
But  still  He  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 
340 


My  cage  confines  me  round, 

Abroad  I  cannot  fly  ; 
But  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound, 

My  heart's   at  liberty ; 
My  prison  walls  cannot  control 
The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  soul. 

Oh  !  it  is  good  to  soar 

These  bolts  and  bars  above, 
To  Him  whose  purpose  I  adore, 

Whose  providence  I  love  ; 
And  in  Thy  mighty  will  to  find 
The  joy,  the  freedom  of  the  mind." 

I  hear  that  song  again  ;  this  time  from  the  dying 
bed  of  a  minister  of  Christ,  the  venerable  Dr.  Payson,  as 
amid  the  bodily  sufferings  and  agonies  indescribable  of  his 
last  days,  he  exclaims:  "The  celestial  city  is  full  in 
my  view  ;  its  glories  beam  upon  me  ;  its  breezes  fan  me  ; 
its  odors  are  wafted  to  me  ;  its  sounds  strike  upon  my 
ear  and  its  spirit  is  breathed  into  my  heart.  Nothing 
separates  me  from  it  but  the  river  of  death,  which  now 
appears  but  an  insignificant  rill  that  may  be  crossed 
at  a  single  step,  whenever  God  shall  give  permission. 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness  has  been  gradually  drawing 
nearer  and  nearer,  appearing  larger  and  brighter  as  he 
approached  ;  and  now  He  fills  the  whole  hemisphere, 
pouring  forth  a  flood  of  glory  in  which  I  seem  to  float 
like  an  insect  in  the  beams  of  the  sun." 

Ah  what  havoc  would  it  make  with  our  Bibles,  what 
havoc  with  the  poetry  of  Christian  experience,  were  we 
to  take  out  of  them  all  the  songs  of  the  night. 

There  is  a  peculiar  sweetness  in  the  song  of  the 
night,  a  depth,  a  tenderness,  a  heavenliness,  which  other 
songs  do  not  bear.  The  groves  of  old  England  are  full  of 
sweet  songsters,  which  make  the  day  vocal  with  their 
cheerful  notes.      But  when   the  sun   has  gone   and   the 

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gathering  shades  of  evening  have  hushed  the  chorus  into 
silence,  then  it  is  that  richer,  clearer,  sweeter  than  all, — 
its  notes  thrilling  with  a  passionate  ecstacy, — the  song  of 
the  nightingale  floats  out  upon  the  dark.  It  is  nature's 
parable  of  the  priceless  lessons  of  affliction,  of  the  song 
in  the  night,  surpassing  all  other  songs. 

My  friends,  the  night  will  come  first  or  last,  to  us 
all.  We  cannot  keep  it  away.  I  once  read  a  pretty  little 
conceit  of  two  children  who  had  been  at  play  in  the 
meadows  and  who  had  found  the  day  so  beautiful  and  per- 
fect that  they  could  not  let  it  go,  and  so  that  the  sun  might 
not  know  his  going  down,  they  stole  in  and  turned  back 
the  hands  on  the  great  clock  in  the  hall.  But  while  they 
were  still  rejoicing  in  their  beautiful  day,  they  found  that 
the  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  hills,  and  the  long,  long 
shadows  were  creeping  across  the  meadows,  and  the  day 
was  gone.  As  vain  are  all  our  efforts  to  put  off  the  night 
of  adversity.  It  must  come.  To  some  here  doubtless  it 
has  come.  Others  may  not  suspect  it.  There  are  blind 
men  whose  eyes,  like  Milton's,  are 

" clear, 

To  outward  view  of  blemish  or  of  spot," 

and  give  no  hint  to  the  observer  of  the  darkness  in  which 
the  soul  sits  within.  So  there  are  lives  seeming  serene 
and  cheerful  enough  to  those  who  know  them  only  from 
the  outside,  which  are  yet  wrapped  in  the  blackness  of 
darkness.  The  night  has  come,  and  you  cannot  help  it. 
You  cannot  bring  back  the  lost  joys.  You  cannot  change 
your  night  to  day. 

But  there  is  one  thing  you  can  do.  You  can  say, 
Where  is  God  my  maker?  You  can  listen  for  his  voice. 
You  can  grasp  His  hand.  You  can  sit  down  humbly  at 
Mis  feet  to  learn  the  lessons  He  would  teach  you.  You  can 
cast  yourself  in  prayer  upon  the  everlasting  arms.  Then 
He,    who   giveth   songs   in   the   night,  will  give  them  to 

342 


you,- — songs  that  nodarkness  can  silence,  songs  that  will 
rise  ever  clearer  and  richer  through  the  night  watches, 
till  the\"  are  swallowed  up  in  the  glad  shout  of  the  resur- 
rection morning,  when  "the  day  breaketh  and  the 
shadows  flee  away." 


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